I've stopped being beautiful quite a long time ago. Mirrors and selfies do not tell the truth; I actually like what I see. Little did I know the ugliness reeks from the blind spots and I shamelessly think it's the world who's at fault.

Forgive me, daughter, for I have sinned.

All I want to hear is an apology. I lift my chin and walk past the mother, idle as a bystander. I am a child bird, my beak is tired from breaking the shell. I wish I didn't have these wings. The nest is uncomfortable, I just want to touch the ground.

I have two feet. One thigh.

Ocean is my ancient dream. But all I got to taste was cold aloe vera. Hint of sweetness, eternal like a dentist's craft. I can't feel pain, so it must be joy, but why am I crying?

We got tired of the cries, the tears, the traces. It's boring, just like an authoritarian news. I don't think there's more to it. What you see is what you get.

I hide everything I can. I mask what I can't. That way, I'm never left with nothing. I hope so. I am so hopeful. I must be cured.

I fill my water bottle with starlight, but when it touches my mouth it takes away the wetness. My lips crack and I can no longer talk. I nod at the earth, and she empathizes.

A thing I can never do. My fingers still long for the colorful helium balloons. How many of it to make me float? I want to explode right on my peak. Cry for me, strangers. I want to hurt you in ways I've never imagined before.