I was seven
And I was learning the difference between a comma and semicolon, but my little mind couldn't comprehend that a comma is used to indicate a separation of ideas within the structure of a sentence while a semicolon binds two sentences more closely than they would be if separated by a full period.

Simple.

It wasn’t because I was not smart enough, commas and semicolons sure are interesting,
but to my teacher my failure to understand was proof that I needed fixing…

I was an unfinished essay.
Forcibly revised and criticized. from compliments to fragments to simple predicates,the harder I rubbed my eraser onto my paper, the more scarred it became. And the response was always the same:
"It doesn't sound right"
"Do it the correct way" the teacher would say.

Period.

But it just wasn’t ME
Why accept complements, if the predicate isn’t even about ME only a form of  words created by fragments that identify me as ME.

We live in a world of constant revision.
Where different is another word for change.
Where boys are ridiculed for liking a lighter shade of red.

Where I get judged by how much goes inside my mouth, rather than what comes out of it, because the shape of our bodies says more than the words we attempt to say but NO, we are silenced by the glossy covers of magazines.

Where being identified as a girly girl means that I hate dirt, smile, twirl my hair around, listen to the newest justin bieber single and talk as if I never read a book in my life.

Where when they hear the word Mexican, they naturally picture the idea of aliens receiving D's and F's because it fits to our "below than average" status

Where knowing a second language means taking "placement exams" because my list of vocabulary words was more culturally diverse than the other children in my class.
Crecí sin saber con que idioma me pude expresar más, el español o el inglés.

We live in lies, the more I resisted, the harder they tried.
And my emotions would be consumed to the point where words could not express the emotional distress I had with my essay’s mess only trying to get my teacher impressed.

Which childhood?

I was never able to control my essay, never gave it an end.

But I know who I am. [Period]
I am the girly girl who wears skirts from forever twenty one, [comma] but loves the soul consuming tune from Black veil brides [semi-colon]
I am the latina que habla dos idiomas y no tiene miedo de estar por encima del promedio. [punto]

I am the girl whose innocence you have slaughtered.

But I would much rather be impure than fall into the hands of ignorance caused by your influence
See, [comma] I am not afraid of your red pen.
or those essays you always mark for me to correct
because today, [comma] I'm perfect.

Period.