About Her

13: Scarred

It all started
when someone didn't like me back,
no matter the effort
and time I poured.

Or maybe long before
when people
who were close to me
always compared me with others.

I have tan skin
in a country that glorified
white ones.

I don't have small pores,
And I have a lot of pimples.
My eyebags are as large as my eyes,
And my lips are not small like a doll's.

I have small breasts.
"Cup −A," they would tease me.

I have huge hips and thighs
That I have a hard time fitting pants.
I was even called "thigh legs" before.
No matter the diet,
everything would go thin,
except for them.

Sometimes I would just
look at some girls the same age as me
and just cry, wishing I were like them.

And others would tell me,
"You're too sensitive" or
"You take things seriously."

Things would get worse
when I remember the days
of hurt and pain
when I get reminded
that I am easily replaced.

No matter how I tell myself,
"You're enough, you're enough,
you have to be enough
for yourself,"
I end up being swept away
by insecurity,
by anxiety,
and by the dark void.

Even if there would always be
someone who'll remind me
that I am beautiful
inside and out—
and I am thankful for that—
still,
the darkness wins
over light.

I just want to be
enough,
not for someone else
but for myself . . .
amid how imperfect I think I am,
not only how I look at myself physically
but also how anxiety and insecurity
overwhelm me at times.

Why is it so hard to do?

This fragmented
piece of whatever
is just a reminder
to be gentle
at all times.

Words are powerful,
and as I've said
in one of my pieces,
"Sometimes
words hurt a lot more
than actions ever could."
A word said in a matter of seconds
can scar someone forever.

I still wait for the day
that I will no longer write
tales of a girl
whom many people can relate to
because
she was overwhelmed
by her own anxiety.