At the influential age of seven years old
I wanted to be a beautiful model.
I let my aunt put flowers in my long
Summer tainted yellow hair
Put on silky old dresses
I puckered my lips up in the mirror
Made them even pinker than before
So they would look better when I pout
Stood up tall
Then strutted around my grandparents
Desecrated, old house.
When I told some kids
In my second grade class
They laughed.
I still remember them saying,
'Are you kidding?
What would you model, Underwear?'
Like it was the funniest thing
In the whole darned world.
From then on, stretching long
I lacked the confidence
The security, I used to have
My dreams were silly to them.
Even now, when I know
I can be anything I want
That they don't matter at all
I can not longer look in the mirror
Seeing my wintered
Light brown ponytail
My still tanned skin
Ocean eyes framed by
Blue mascaraed eyelashes
And think I'm pretty,
Or skinny enough.

It seems that everyone looks over me
{Or laughs}
Even when I try to stand out
But, I no longer mind.
Being able to fade into the walls
I just wonder
Who gave someone
The right to say:
'And you are''
Because in real, honest life
There is no judgment day.