Too many expectations to live up to,
too many false aspirations suggested.
Too much self-hate toward one’s body,
not enough self-content.
An infinitesimal amount of satisfaction when glancing in a mirror,
an immense amount of “Ugh, I look ugly.
Is she prettier than me?
How can I look like her?”
Too many trial and errors of mundane objects,
not enough relief the first time.
Too much society,
not enough me.
I am not the makeup that cakes young girls’ faces,
I am not the skirts and crop tops that flaunts in the wind,
I am not the tears that pour because of bad grades or a love lost,
I am not the photoshopped magazine cover girls aspire to look like,
I am not the leftover food girls refuse to eat because society tells them beauty is a skinny body.
I am not the hated reflection of myself,
I am not the self-hatred inflicted on others for my satisfaction.
I am not the countless tubes of mascara,
palettes of eyeshadow,
or containers of foundation used for altercation.
I am not the scars that forever lay in a cracked heart.
I am not the yelling that is bounced around throughout my house.
I am not the scissors girls wish to use to cut the “excess” stomach.
I am not the “can’t dos and won’t dos”,
I am certainly not the bystander that stands for injustice.
I am not the vegetables being thrown in soup by my mom,
I am not the housewife cooking and cleaning ‘til days end,
I am not the submissive follower attending to my husband’s commands.
I am not mother who shows her kids that women are acquiescent,
I am not the sister that encourages her sister to marry without real love,
I am not the daughter that will subject herself to only fulfilling the needs of a man.
I am the achiever coming home to my husband cooking dinner.
I am the CEO facilitating my employees,
I am the mother who shows her kids that willpower is present in anyone,
I am the sister who wants to see her sister happy,
I am the daughter that will make a name, an identity, a persona for herself.
I am the music notes that dance in the air when I sing,
I am the leftover pencil shavings and eraser crumbs after hours of sketching.
I am the witty jokes and puns that make people smile when they look away,
I am the upbeat airwaves of electronic music blasting through speakers.
I am the argumentative feminist words that fly all over the courthouse,
I am the Nike kicks that take me where I need to go.
I am the path of resistance, not going without a fight.
Yes, that’s me.
I am the three cups of coffee that aid me in studious allnighters,
I am the little toddler with a new toy making new discoveries.
I am the lion in a pack of cubs.
I am the hugs of comfort, joy, and sadness.
I am a paradox;
for I know what I am and am not but not why I am.