I was already exhausted by the time the sun came out. I had spent the night awake, shivering under my white blanket and praying that I would get sick so I could avoid confrontation. I put the phone in the bag without looking at it and grabbed my black jacket, putting it over my orange shirt.

I was already exhausted by the time the bacon sizzled on the pan and my mother sang in her sweet voice that breakfast was ready. I replied “no thank you I’m not hungry” and walked out the door, headed to school. The library was my first stop because no one goes there in the morning; no one bothers you there.

I was already exhausted by the time lunch came. I was trembling in that black jacket, clutching it for dear life as I saw him approach from the other side of the room. Closing my eyes I hoped for a fair and easy conversation about breaking up, only to open them and realize he that was not approaching me; he was approaching the beautiful blonde with the luscious lips and hot hips. Soon, his hand rested on her thigh and she flashed a flirty smile. His eyes glazed over her body like icing on cake. She was a treat. How could I be mad though? Who would want carrots when you could have cake?

I was already exhausted by the time I came home from marching band practice. After my shower I looked in the mirror: bulky biceps, thick thighs, and a short size. I sobbed and opened my phone to call Amanda and tell her about the horrible things I saw in the mirror. She responded instantly, telling me exactly the same things that I saw: “Bulky biceps, thick thighs, and a short size; was it that bastard boy that taught you to hate that beautiful body of yours?”  I stayed silent and she preached out, “You are an artist, use that talent of yours to your advantage. It is immature and unfair for someone to hate you because you did not want to give them your body.” With that, she left.

That night I wrote poems like I’ve never wrote before. I wrote about everything, from melodious music to festive feasts, but most importantly, I wrote about problems between a boy and I. I wrote all of my anger, sadness and love away on a sheet and put it into an envelope. I ran as fast as I could to the stupid boy’s house. He opened the door and I smiled as I gave him my poem. Finally, I was free from that cage.

For once, I had a tranquil night of sleep. For once, I was not too exhausted to notice that by the time the sun came out, it had painted gold over my black jacket and white sheets.