Beautiful

When I was in fifth grade, I thought I was beautiful.

I made a friendship bracelet for me, one for myself, and another for I

Because I thought I could handle the loneliness and turn it into a comforting lull.

I couldn’t. Turns out that humans like being alone as much as getting shampoo in the eye

The kids used to call me Yogi Bear. Laughing,

They’d point to my stomach and say, “She’s had one too many picnic baskets.”

I used to stay inside for recess, because the hallways had become a battleground; they were laying out my casket

And I didn’t want to use my words as tools to bring others down

So I sat in silence, terrified that I would one day drown

I began to rehearse running away, and learned to be a statue so that no one would know I was there.

It didn’t work. All kids know how to do is stare.

It was lonely, and I felt ugly.

Desperate for companionship, I began to trade homework assignments for friendship.  

I wrote little slips for every person who left me alone

The brittle scripts I had made failed to stop their groans

And one day, the kid who had branded me with that hated name asked me to do her math homework, and I took it, feeling like a house that a tornado had hit.

I didn’t want to be another kid torn to bits.

I was done of being that know-it-all who caused everyone to sneer.  

I wanted to become more than a filled out answer sheet. More than a puppet, waiting for their next puppeteer.

So I wrote down all the wrong answers, and handed it to her the next day

She got her sheet back with a zero out of fifty on it, and I didn’t need to hold up my perfect sheet for the satisfaction to betray.

“Smarter than the average bear, motherfucker.”

And from that day forward, I knew my resolve would never buckle.

Words became weapons in my arsenal

I’d never let them hurt me with their stupid babble

Throwing back bombs when kids would say

“Hey Emma, looking a little chunky today,”

And I’d calmly look back, smiling all the same,

“Oh, sorry that I’m going to start in the game when you don’t even get to play!”

No, I’ll never let them have me beat, even when the earth is pulled out from underneath my feet, even when my brain turns into a jumble, thoughts beginning to stumble

Leftover from when I decided to smash all the things I thought I used to be

And see that I was staring blindly

I was a beauty, just as I believed

And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself, about who you really see

Get a better mirror

Look a little closer

See a little clearer

Stare a little longer

Because there’s something inside you

That made you keep trying

Despite everyone around you who told you to quit

You built a cast around your broken heart

And signed it yourself, a work of art

You signed it

“They were wrong”

Because they had to be wrong

Flaws play sad blue songs

And believe me, we’ve heard them all

That rhyme about stones and breaking bones is more deceptive than nightfall

You can’t tell me that bruises hurt more than the names they called us

We painted the stars with ink from the broken parts of us;

Remind yourself that there's no winning any race against yourself, slow down.

And when the kid in you falls, turn around, pick them up, dust them off, then continue. Trust me, you are gonna need that kid, so you don’t get lost in the bustle of the crowd.

You are gonna need someone to remind you that every weed is a flower, just trying to make shit work, that every jerk you ever encounter is just another someone who somehow forgot that it's okay to need a hug.

It's okay to be afraid.

It’s okay to feel like the world’s under a constant raid.

I know we never meant to turn our hearts into garbage bins.

But your heart is a door, not a lock. Everytime you hear its beat, it’s just that kid at the doorknock asking for you to let them in.