my parents raised a child who needed
to blend in to survive, my parents raised a child
who needed to stand out to be loved
imagine a five year old child in
old worn out sandals
treading the line of vanity and
invisibility
in class I raised my hand but not too
high, high enough not to be lazy, low enough
to not seem a know it all
imagine a seven year old in
a collared navy blue polo
treading the line of boastfulness and
indolence
at church I made sure to pray in my seat but never
near the altars. I was too concerned with my
parents' spotless reputation to love my
God.
imagine an eleven year old in
a knee length dress
treading the line between faithlessness and
ostentatiousness
my shoulders are not to be shown or I risk
promiscuity
my hair to be uncovered or I risk
piousness
my marks have to be the best or I face
inadequacy
but to speak of them is pompous and
arrogant
I must not complain in case I seem unpleasant and
childish
I must not be quiet in case I seem an easy
victim
Independent but not
too independent.
Pretty but not too pretty.
Always kind,
always forgiving,
always smiling.
In the bathroom, I cry
almost silently
in the stall.
But never silently enough.
imagine a sixteen year old child
in just her skin
in just her skin
in just her skin
imagine a sixteen year old child.
For once I am thankful makeup is too vain.
For once I would like to be allowed to be
ostentatious.