Early adolescene consisted of
bulky sweaters, dusty shoes,
and baggy jeans to aid in invisibility.
I sat in a corner with my
nose buried in a book rather than
meaningless drool that were
fashion magazines.

The magazines I tried to read
did nothing in gaining
trustworthy friends.

My teen years became somewhat more
contemporary in a sense of style and
I began reading the material people my age
hide ran away from: Harper Lee,
George Orwell, the Bronte sisters.

I lived their lives of mystery and excitement--
things my life lacked.

In that time, I gained a voice;
a voice once nonexistent.
I would speak with excitement and passion.
Things I never once did.

Now older, I still use my voice.
Probably more than I should.

Despite that, I'm truly happy.
I will embrace the strong and independent
woman I am now.

Doesn't anyone have a problem with that?