You say I’m limitless, but I must say, I disagree. You tell me, “You can be anything you want to be.” But again, I must say, “I’d have to disagree.” I’m a limited human being. I can only become “so free.” I can only show bits of pieces of me. If you really knew me, my life, and my past, you might just have a glimpse of understanding why I deserve to be masked, harassed, last, asked, passed by again and again, and it all comes down to the fact that I am limited. I don’t have the limitlessness to stop what’s been done to me. The abuse, the suffering, the pain, the torment. He might of thought, “Oh, yeah, she’ll forget.” But, oh, just believe me, I didn’t forget. His face and acts swirl inside my head, they circle around and around and remind me why my sheets are now stained blood red. I look down at my arms and see all the scars, and have to think of why I did it….and the answer, is Him. He limited me. I couldn’t be just like every other girl who got to play with Barbie dolls. No, he took me to that secret place where I was trafficked and grown men could play with MY body. I couldn’t say no or go tell my mom, because if I did, He told me that I’d be bad, she’d be mad, and in the end, everybody would just end up being sad. I was young, I was scared, I was limited. And now, I can’t wear white on my wedding day. That special opportunity has been ripped out from below, been tossed to and fro, then stolen, twisted, then thrown out the window. I am limited. I can’t walk around confidently in shorts and short sleeves because I am haunted by the memories that scars leave and possibility of facing the reality of what others might think of me. I am limited. I mean, my size, look at me. I spent so many years losing weight, then I go into treatment, and am put into a world of torment, because they make me eat. They make me sick. And now, look at me. I’m tall. I’m fat. I’m scarred. I’m dirty. I’m unclean. Face it, I am limited. I go to church with my family and go through the motions, hiding behind the scenes, pretending there is no commotion, but these people keep telling me, “You’re limitless, Mikayla. You’re limitless.” But I don’t get it. Don’t they see that I’m not flawless, not a goddess, I’m heartless. Don’t they see my unworthiness, my ungodliness. If they don’t see that….then what in the world do they see? Do they have some kind of glasses that make life seem like its matchless? Or are they just lying to me, hoping I’ll believe that my life can actually amount to something, but in the back of their mind, they realize that they have to be kind because I am at a point that is impossible to ever even find. Years of swirling these ideas through my mind and through my head…I’ve finally found the answer: Those people look through glasses that were stained crimson red. Stained from the blood of Jesus Christ. The covering over of our sins, where we’ve been, what we’ve done and what we’ve become. Through those glasses, they see what Christ can see, our potential and all we were created to be. He doesn’t look at our past, and decide whether or not we come in last, get a sandblast, a roughcast, or be featured in a sportscast. Through those glasses, He sees perfection. He sees authority. He sees boldness and strength. He sees courage. He sees that I am limitless. And to myself, I question how I, a human who has been so trauma-stricken can be viewed in such a way, but I’m beginning to see how in God’s eyes, my past has been thrown away. Although it wasn’t his will, He has turned this experience into a real uphill windmilled treadmill. What is that, you might ask? It shows how I have pushed, and I have climbed, and at times, I have given up, and said, its pastime. But the truth of the matter is, that God’s been holding my hand. Crawling, walking and running with me each step I take on this land. Although this wasn’t his original plan, He has turned my downs into touchdowns, and I have experienced a broken heart for what breaks His, which gives me the motivation to make sex-slavery done and over with in this country, and give each person a new view of themselves, first hand. I have accepted the rose glasses that are stained crimson red, so I can look into the eyes of that weeping girl and say, “It’s all over now, lift up your head.” This experience of mine has been an intricate design that has led me to my future. My past has been a turbine that has made me call out for a lifeline. With that choice, and the putting on of rose glasses, I have learned many truths. I’m not voiceless, I’m not powerless, I’m not purposeless. I, Mikayla, am limitless. Limitless to change my world. Limitless to change the world. I, Mikayla, am limitless.