In second grade,
My mom made me wear dresses everyday.
My mom would part my hair down the middle and make two long braids with colorful hair ties.
I would go to school and the boys would make fun of my dresses.
The boy that sat behind me would pull my braids anytime I said something smart.
In fourth grade,
I told my mom I could dress myself, but she still had to approve of every outfit.
I told my mom I was old enough to style my own hair.
I would go to school and the boys would make fun of my weight instead of my clothes.
The boy that sat behind me would sit next to me and call me names for being the stupid one in smart classes.
In seventh grade,
I told my mom that I didn't care what she thought.
I cut my long hair shoulder length.
I started wearing dark makeup.
The boys didn't make fun of my weight but they would ask me out as a joke.
The boy that sat behind me and then next to me, liked me and texted me every night saying how pretty I was.
In the ninth grade,
My mom wasn't awake to see what I wore to school.
I regretted the very day I decided to cut my hair.
The boys that called me fat; left me alone because they found someone bigger to pick on.
The boy that sat behind me asked me for a naked picture and I said no.
He called me a fat, ugly, ***** and never talked to me again.
In the tenth grade,
My mom borrowed my clothes and I borrowed hers.
My hair fell out but I wanted it to grow.
Boys no longer call me fat because they never saw me eat.
And the boy that sat behind me wanted me back.
I cried myself to sleep and hid my wrists in my sleeve.
It's funny how many things changed since the second grade.
-c.a.