When I was a young child, I loved myself.

I confidently strutted my polka-dot sweater and striped skirt,

I rocked the "bed head" look.. Everyday.

I didn't have a care in the world.

When I was young, I hated my face.

Freckles bombarded my nose, my forehead, and my cheeks.

"Freckles are ugly." -As if I didn't already know.

"You could play connect the dots." -I didn't ask for my face to be invaded with a thousand brown dots.

A young girl, who desperately wanted out of her own body. 

When I entered high school, I hated my face.

I sought out the bronzest of all bronzers.

I longed for a clear and less child-like face.

My lack of self confidence poured out of my freckles.

Since when do dots on your face define you?

When I became confident, I was pleased with my face.

Freckles closely resemble the spots on a cheetah.

Cheetahs are faster than others,

I work much faster than others.

Each freckle is nothing like the other. 

Youll never find a replica of me.

A unique arrangement of spots,

like a cheetah.