Maybe
it is written in the stars
that I will have scars
and bruises
instead of freckles.
But I hope it doesn't have to be this way
because I hate the sound of me crying
and I can't get away from that
when it's coming from my own head.
Maybe
there's a world where I have a better place to curl up and sob
than my bed, or the middle of the floor, or a bathroom stall, or
halfway out of my closet.
Maybe
one day
I will be sure of more than my looks.
And I won't have to hang on to every
bubblegum wrapper
and chipotle menu I ever touch
because I'm not afraid of forgetting anymore.
Maybe
I'll feel like a real person,
and not a cruel animation,
a science project
some higher being got a D on.
Maybe
there's a chance
I'll stop missing myself
someday.