When I looked into the mirror, it’s hard to tell what I saw.

Because for the longest time I was never considered a person. Rather a mistake.

And the funny thing is, I believed them, their words that cut deeper than anything.

Bullied, ridiculed, despised, unwanted, unloved. Who could love one that could not love oneself?

Every day, a new thought suggested by someone else, “cut yourself this way, it will kill you faster”

Then I looked at myself in that mirror and thought, who is she staring back at me?

 

I was 13 when society turned on me for the worse.

My teeth yet not fixed, my skin not so pure and my hair?

Though we all had on the same uniforms, we were far from united because,

the problem was not this (draw attention to clothing) it was this (point to appearance)

It was then when I realized that society had decided for ME, who I was.

So at 14 I decided to make a new me.

I cut off all my hair that disgusted so many, added makeup to provide an illusion of perfected skin

And yet, it was not enough…

 

They wanted more, “you’re no fun, you don’t how to have it”

And what could I do rather than sit… and obey.

For I am the example of my father’s name so who am I to squander that?

At 15, he left to fight for freedom, and I became somebody, yet it was not the kind of person one wants to be, no… it was not.

Drug-induced, drunk hazes and nights that cannot be recalled, who is this?? Who is she??

This was not me, this is what my peers, the ones that make society wanted me to be.

The bullying got worse and the names less general, more personal.

Slut, addict, drunk, but these words, how could they be me? For I am a flower,

But when that flower is tainted no one will be your savior. You are the enemy, the unpure yet we put on this show like EVERYTHING is ok, but it’s not, was it ever really?

 

At 16 I moved schools because the shaming was too much.

A fresh new start and everything was good, I had braces now and my hair grown to shoulder at length and for once, I could breathe without suffocating.

At 17, I met someone and through all the pain and unholy events of my life he did not care rather he took me by the hands and said, “The past is the past”

For once I felt beautiful, for once I felt accepted and for once my life seemed worth something more than the puppet of society, no I became someone with a voice.

So when I look into the mirror, I do not ask, who is she?

I look at myself and see who she is.

She is me, and who I am is a whole other story.