I am not a diagnoses

I am a child in a therapist office.

I am a child of wretched scars and scabs.

I am a child of anger and crying spells.

I am a child of classified files of diagnoses.

I am a child who hurls at the thought of my next meal.

I am a child of a groaning stomach only to be muffled by my mind’s cries at my reflection.

I am ashamed of my diagnoses… because that is not who I am but the balance of chemicals that is genetic…

I am ashamed of a stomach that is not three days emptied.

I am a child of no hope but to have tear stained sheets passed down to my children as well.

I am teenager a year later.

I am a child of disappearing scars!

I am a child of dealing with anger and crying spells.

I am a child of open diagnoses.

I am who I am.

The chemicals in my mind will not scare away the sun from my skin nor will it kill the grass as it grazes along my bare feet.

I am a child that graduated from a starving stomach and self wars.

I am Navina.