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.