Jan 2013
I want to exist.
I want to be beautiful.
I want to love my self
These goals seem so realistic.
So, possible.
These goals are goals I’ve had since I was 10 years old.
Standing in my bathroom,
Looking in the mirror,
Crying.
After the boy at school told me I was fat
After the ******* the internet told me to get on a treadmill.
I stared at myself in the mirror wondering,
What I had done to deserve this?
Nothing.
That’s the answer.
I was born with these bones,
I was born with this face,
This ***,
This stomach.
Society makes me look at myself
With disgust for the way I came out of my mother’s womb.
Something I had no control over.
I didn’t ask to be who I am.
Every day I stare at myself in the mirror
Like I did when I was 10.
I’m no longer 10 though,
I’ve learned how to correctly apply makeup
I go to a gym.
I’ve grown into my skin
I have straight teeth,
I went through puberty
I’ve lost and gained weight.
I graduated high school.
I’ve dated.
All of these things were things that I longed for when I was younger,
To be older,
Wiser,
Prettier.
Prettier,
It’s a funny word
I thought I knew what it meant.
I don’t.
I accept the compliments I’m given
Yet I return to that reflection
Hoping the face in the mirror will give me something I’ve been dying for.
Acceptance.
I used to want the acceptance of other
Until I got it,
And realized
Staring into that mirror
All I’ve ever really wanted,
was to go back to that 10 year old
And shake her and tell her she’s beautiful
And erase all of those mean words she’d heard from the girls at school
I’d contradict every word they said to her.
“You’re ugly”
“You’re beautiful”
“You’re fat”
“You’re perfect”
“You’ll never get a boyfriend”
“You’ll find someone”.
“I hate you”
“I love you”
I like to make people laugh
Not to cover up my secrets,
But to disguise people from the broken 10 year old that’s still beneath this skin.
I’ve grown up
I’ve learned to come to terms with who I am.
Sometimes though, I feel that tear stricken, bullied 10 year old coming to the surface
I repress it and remind myself
Society is ******.
Don’t listen to it.
All these years, I’ve longed to be someone else.
When all along,
I’ve just longed to learn to love who I am.
I want to be beautiful.
I want to love my self
These goals seem so realistic.
So, possible.
These goals are goals I’ve had since I was 10 years old.
Standing in my bathroom,
Looking in the mirror,
Crying.
After the boy at school told me I was fat
After the ******* the internet told me to get on a treadmill.
I stared at myself in the mirror wondering,
What I had done to deserve this?
Nothing.
That’s the answer.
I was born with these bones,
I was born with this face,
This ***,
This stomach.
Society makes me look at myself
With disgust for the way I came out of my mother’s womb.
Something I had no control over.
I didn’t ask to be who I am.
Every day I stare at myself in the mirror
Like I did when I was 10.
I’m no longer 10 though,
I’ve learned how to correctly apply makeup
I go to a gym.
I’ve grown into my skin
I have straight teeth,
I went through puberty
I’ve lost and gained weight.
I graduated high school.
I’ve dated.
All of these things were things that I longed for when I was younger,
To be older,
Wiser,
Prettier.
Prettier,
It’s a funny word
I thought I knew what it meant.
I don’t.
I accept the compliments I’m given
Yet I return to that reflection
Hoping the face in the mirror will give me something I’ve been dying for.
Acceptance.
I used to want the acceptance of other
Until I got it,
And realized
Staring into that mirror
All I’ve ever really wanted,
was to go back to that 10 year old
And shake her and tell her she’s beautiful
And erase all of those mean words she’d heard from the girls at school
I’d contradict every word they said to her.
“You’re ugly”
“You’re beautiful”
“You’re fat”
“You’re perfect”
“You’ll never get a boyfriend”
“You’ll find someone”.
“I hate you”
“I love you”
I like to make people laugh
Not to cover up my secrets,
But to disguise people from the broken 10 year old that’s still beneath this skin.
I’ve grown up
I’ve learned to come to terms with who I am.
Sometimes though, I feel that tear stricken, bullied 10 year old coming to the surface
I repress it and remind myself
Society is ******.
Don’t listen to it.
All these years, I’ve longed to be someone else.
When all along,
I’ve just longed to learn to love who I am.
