All those years ago
without even
realizing
what I was doing
I picked myself apart
laying all the pieces across the floor
and said
"I don't like my eyes"
my mother asked
"why?"
I shrugged my reply
"they're too dark and remind me of mud"
then it was
"my hair looks like damp dirt"
and
"I hate my smile, my tooth is crooked"
I hid my
bruised legs behind jeans
and scrawny arms
beneath long sleeves
always stepping on tip toes
for an extra inch
"I'm too short to keep up"
always being teased
"you're so short and tiny like Santa's elves"
and slowly over time
I began to hate
my own
skin
lashing out at anyone who got too close
and while I appreciate
others trying to
fix me, the problem is
how do You
Fix
something I created?