I was born an original
I was no copy, no misfit
I was perfect.

I had three smiles, one for laughing, one for caring,
And one for contentment
I used all three every day.
I was born an original.

I grew up with a younger brother as a neighbor
I was compared, scrutinized,
Looked at.
I was born an original.

Paused videos recall my brother, the laugh of the century,
A handsome thing, a clown.
I sat, silent, an unsure thing,
Looked at.
I was born an original.

Comparison after comparison,
Strenuous years of who was taller, bigger,
Stronger.
I lost every time, yet I was still
Born an original.

My parents told me I had confidence,
My parents told me who I could be,
My parents told me I was sweet,
My parents told me I was original.

I went to school, living in shadows,
Giving myself useless labels,
Drowning in my own silence.
I was born an original.

People recalled me
Not remembering what came after the name,
Savannah…
Definition: a dry desert
With little to no water,
No substance.
I was born an original.

I went to high school,
People adding their labels to my labels
Awkward, quiet, innocent, virgin…
I owned them all,
They owned me,
Wearing them upon my sleeve
Like a watch, constantly checking.
I was born an original.

I’d acknowledge every label,
They each had their own unique part of me
I became those labels,
And the labels became me,
Personifying themselves as if they had their own
Life form.
I was born an original.

I analyzed everything,
Constantly googling:
“How to be funny,”
“How to be pretty,”
“How to be liked,”
Confused why communication was so hard
And overthinking was so easy.
I was born an original.

I wanted to leave.
You’re told that if someone talks down to you
Or uses yourself against you,
You just walk away.
I wasn’t lucky enough to do so.
I had no solid legs to walk on,
With an increased amount of labels
Dragging them down.
I stuck myself out there,
Trying to be the opposite of what those labels represented.
I was born an original.

Quiet and awkward became
Loud and forced humor,
Innocent became more eye makeup,
More time dwindling in self image.
Attaching myself to something,
Anything,
To be noticed.
I felt lost in my own personality,
Therapy doing nothing,
My parents doing nothing,
Confidence doing nothing.
I was born an original.

I changed schools,
Labels followed, but not as harshly.
I felt every pang of criticism,
Like a boat on a stormy sea,
Able to sink at any moment.
I didn’t know what to attach on to,
So I resorted to field trips to the bathroom,
Crying to relieve tension
Of wounds that might never heal.
I was born an original.

Comparisons continued:
Who had the most friends,
Who was the prettiest,
Who could be absolutely perfect.
I was none.
I was an original.

I never felt, could never understand
How to talk to people.
I could see the labels
In their eyes,
And wouldn’t even finish my sentence
Before walking away,
Ashamed.
I couldn’t understand
How I ever had the chance of a boyfriend,
Feeling the pain of being inexperienced,
A virgin.

I was born an original.

I have never understood,
Can never understand.
I am awkward.
I am quiet.
I am a virgin.
I am innocent.
And I was born an original.