So many people want to be
DIFFERENT
To stand out
Be unique, brilliant, and attractive
like a shining star
So many people want to be the
same
To conform
To fit in and belong like feet in a
snug pair of shoes
But, why?
When one always wants the other is one really better?

My father said believe in nothing
My mother told me everyone will do you wrong
I thought to be taught a wise lesson
Sang along this song for far too long
Wasn't sure I'd know how to forget
or how to move on

My father cried only once
My mother never stopped her tears
Are we just vessels to be filled
with our forerunners' endless fears
Of a life that is begging to be lived
Just to be dead on arrival at the piers

My aunt said do what's asked of you
In the end no one could tell me how it's done
I jumped off the boat of broken ones
and got washed up at distant shores unknown
Though since then I saw many bright suns
never has anything clear been shown

Endless days of wondering
endless ways to go on pretending
always kneedeep in my head, always pondering
and how fiercely I'd like to be defending
the fragile insides of my chest but I let them keep plundering
hearts and hopes are constantly breaking and mending

To this shell I'm bound
for now my heart is cold and my ghost is still
in awe of what I haven't found
sitting on my mind's windowsill
wishing for a wind of change. May it be profound.

In mere moments,
Sorry!
Seconds,
We may either question, or,
trust in our mind.

Convicted creed,
like that of criminals.

You have made no errors,
And you are just,

You are perfection in a being.

Perhaps.

I remember the first time
that I was called pretty.
I was eight years old.
I remember feeling
a bubble of insecurity
hover around me,
like an ant
under a microscope.
At eight years old,
I had experienced
my very first wave
of expectations of women
in a male dominated society.
I had no idea
that would be the first
of many by the time
I reached womanhood.
I was just a child.
I loved playing in the dirt,
and capturing bull frogs.
I was a girl
who played like a boy.
I never thought I was pretty,
not because I had
low self esteem,
but because
I was eight years old.
I was to young
to have pretty
wrapped up in my identity.
Fast forward
eight more years.
I am sixteen now.
I am no longer
playing in the dirt,
or capturing bull frogs.
I am painting my nails
bright pink,
and dying my hair
every two weeks.
I am trying to be pretty.
I am no longer
feeling the bubble of insecurity.
I am living in it
twenty four seven.
I am always concerned
with how I look,
how I act,
and what I say.
I am a girl
who is no longer a tomboy.
I am just a girl.
I no longer know
who I am,
because I am
not allowed
to be who I am.
I am expected
to sit quietly
in the corner,
straightening my hair,
perfecting my makeup,
so that a boy
who loves my body
can tell me he loves me,
and make me his wife.
Fast forward
4 more years.
I am twenty now.
I am numb
to the insecurity.
I am now expected
to live in a suburb,
raise three kids,
clean the house,
love my husband,
and my white picket fence.
I am just another girl
who is seen as pretty.
I am living a lifeless life.
I am at a crossroads
to either stay down
under the weight
of societies expectations,
or burn my picket fence
right down to the ground.
I am remembering
that tomboy I was
before I was called pretty.
I can either reconnect
with her fierceness,
or hide beyond a mask
of beige concealer.
I can either be a dove,
or I can be a phoenix.
I think
the choice is obvious.