Partner track contest september 11

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My parents always tell me to enjoy my teens while they last, because once they end, you'll be mourning those times, and wishing you'd appreciated them while they were most prevalent. However, elementary through middle-school for me were the worst times in my life.

At that time, I had a strong jaw and a short haircut, and was bullied relentlessly. Teased by the girls for not looking like society's depiction of what a 'girl' was supposed to look like, curves, long hair, tight pants, makeup, I lacked it all, and the boy's mocked me for it, saying I was practically a 'boy in a dress'

During the day, I had to laugh it off and pretend their mindless jeers didn't get to me, while at night I would spend minutes staring woefully at my reflection in the mirror and ask God why I couldn't look like them? Why I couldn't be beautiful? And like every night I would receive no answer.

I would come home with bruises and abrasions that I had endured at the hands of bullies, and try to hide them behind baggy and oversized shirts, but my mother would eventually catch on and ask me about it. Caught in a lie, I'd be forced to confess to her about all I had underwent at that retched school. How the boys would purposely trip me and push me around, how the girls would comment on my appearance and compare me to that of a boy's, and she would tell me that I was beautiful, I was unique, and I needed to tough it out.

I was a pretty moody and disobedient kid back then, and I was extremely hurt by her lack of compassion, so that night I would go in her closet and steal her tightest pair of jeans to wear to school the next day.

Maybe they'd leave me alone if I started dressing like a 'girl'

They didn't.

The bullying only worsened, and now they were calling me a 'dude in girl's clothes' not to mention the fact, I immediately got in trouble as soon as my mom found out what I had done. I would go back to school the next day in my baggy navy blue dress, two-sizes too big, and I'd be forced to sit through the taunts, the jeers, the comments, and shoves, and couldn't do anything about it.

My teacher's didn't care about me, as I had a reputation of failing classes, and nobody ever dared bully me in front of any of them, so there was no evidence of these attacks, it was my word against there's, and with half the class on their side, my money was on them.

Every day would be the same, I would be pushed, shoved, elbowed, insulted by the students, and failed by each of my teachers, except for a single teacher who would do anything to help me pass. I'll call him A, my only support system at the time. He would allow me to redo assignments when they were past due date, or I had already turned them in and received a failing grade.

I would eventually get my grades up, one assignment at a time with his help, and receiving my first A had me feeling like I was actually useful for once.

One morning I would wake up, staring holes into my reflection and repeat the words my mother had uttered to me on many occasions ''You're beautiful, and you're smart.'' That was all I needed. I told myself that I could care less about what the other kids thought of me. I would wear my dress and walk the halls with pride.

''Hey!'' A boy would call. ''It's the boy in the dress!''

I'd like to believe it was God who had steered me along, without even acknowledging the boy, keeping my temper intact. They'd shove me and trip me, but I wouldn't even blink an eye. I wouldn't waste my tears on them, I was beautiful.

And as quickly as the Bieber-cut trend subsided, they would stop picking on me, seeing as it didn't affect me anymore as they had hoped, and they gotten bored of reusing the same old lines and insults. A couple of them even started liking me.

I would come out of middle-school feeling like a better person, who knew who her identity. I knew what I wouldn't do anymore, I wouldn't change myself for anyone who couldn't see the beauty hidden beyond the surface.

I would eventually even make friends. (=

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