in the society i live in,
where a size 4 is too big,
where beauty is a box
i must squeeze myself into—
or be cast aside.

i am told i am wrong
for being myself.
so i learn to shrink,
to mold myself into something acceptable,
to erase the edges of who i am
until i blend into the background.

i laugh at jokes i don’t find funny,
like the things they like,
speak only when necessary,
never too loud,
never too much.

i paint my face with foundation,
layer by layer,
hoping someone will see me
and call me beautiful.

i just want to be myself.
but how?
how do i do that when i’ve already lost myself?
i don’t know how to be myself.
who is she?
where is she?
will i ever find her again?

boys will be boys.
they play with me,
toy with my emotions,
then toss me aside
when the thrill of the chase is over.

and yet, i still fall.
for the one everyone warns me about—
the football player,
the *******,
the star quarterback.
the one who will never see me
the way i see him.

i hope, i hope,
maybe one day, he’ll realize i’m the one.
maybe he’ll look at me the way i look at him.
but this isn’t a movie.
there’s no grand confession,
no moment where he chooses me.

true love is rare.
and i am not the exception.

i have spent so long trying to be enough,
trying to fit into their world,
trying to be seen,
to be loved.

but i am done shrinking.
done waiting.
done searching for something
that was never meant to find me.

maybe i will never be the girl in the fairytale.
maybe i will never have the love in the movies.
maybe i will never be the one he chooses.

but maybe, just maybe,
i can learn to choose myself.