I am
I am self stories

meowne Red lipsticks and bloody knives
Autoplay OFF   •   5 years ago
I am.

I am

by meowne

I am six years old,

And I wonder why are the boys the first and the strongest in gym, why they can roughhouse and tussle, because it's a boy thing.

I am eight years old,

And when a girl is punched in the stomach I say nothing because I don't want to be next.

I am ten years old,

And I am afraid of stepping into dark alleyways, I hop and jump across cracks in the sidewalk, and run from shadows.

I am eleven years old,

And I am walking home with a friend and I almost panic when a man approaches me because I don't recognize him, and he's the father of a friend but I am still terrified.

I am twelve years old,

And I feel singled out and different.

I am twelve years old,

And I am standing in my bathroom in the middle of the night because I have so many secrets inside that I can't share, so I cut open my chest to let them out.

I am still twelve,

And when I can't stop a baby's crying I think for a second that I'll never be a good mother.

I am thirteen years old,

And I cry alone in the dark because it hurts inside and I'm so sad that I can barely breathe.

I am thirteen years old,

And my grades are low and expectations are high because it's harder than it looks to be a girl.

I am fourteen years old,

And I feel ugly when I look in the mirror because I'm too thin but too much pudge and my thighs are thick and my ribs are bony.

I am fifteen years old,

And I feel desperate and alone and there's nothing I can do.

I am sixteen years old,

And I'm still afraid when I see a man on the streets, I am still insecure, and now my thighs are thin and my ribs are bonier. I eat nothing to stay strong and beautiful and perfect.

Or, I am sixteen years old,

And I now know what happens when you go into dark alleys. I am tired and broken and the pills are a relief when I swallow and now everything is black.

Or, I am sixteen years old,

And I'm a slut, a whore, with low grades and a broken hearts, with running mascara and tear-soaked pillowcases.

Or, I am sixteen years old,

And I have perfect grades, a perfect life, and I still run from shadows, and my chest and thighs are covered in scars from secrets that nobody can know.

I am six years old.

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