I cannot seem to shake that

insecure fat face out of my

brain.

 

She is ugly.

She is stupid.

She is fat.

She is smelly.

She is me. 

 

She is me during 5th grade, trying

to fit in, yet whatever I do seems

to send children running away.

 

As I look at this young boy I cannot

help but picture my ugly fat face in

5th grade being tortured, being

constantly told that I am nothing.

 

As I look at this handsome young boy, I

cannot imagine why he likes me when I

was that smelly girl that people stood fifteen 

feet away from.

 

As I look at this intelligent, handsome young

boy, I cannot fathom why he wants to date the

girl whose pants in fifth grade gave off a mildewy 

smell and whose pants wrinkles made my teachers

question my home life. 

 

As I look at this young boy, I want him to leave, 

before the teasing begins again.

I see some beautiful girls chattering and laughing away.

I would not be surprised if they were gossiping

about me,