In kindergarten, you said I'm selfish, so now I bring a second snack for my friends.
In first grade, you said I'm fat, so now I pretend to eat breakfast in the morning.
In second grade, you said I have hairy legs, so now I shave my legs with soap and the razor I secretly took from the hotel.
In third grade, you said I look bad in glasses, so I asked my mom to get contacts under the excuse of doing sports. I wear them every day, even if my eyes hurt.
In fourth grade, you said my hair is damaged, so now I shower in ice cold water.
In fifth grade, you said I have a lot of acne, so now I have a four-step skincare routine. I don't drink milk or eat chocolate anymore.
In sixth grade, you said my eyebags are ugly, so now I steal my mom's concealer.
In seventh grade, you said I'm flat, so now I do squats every day.
In eighth grade, you said I was lazy, so now I wake up early to exercise.
Yesterday you said I'm not good enough, so now I'm crying in my bed because I don't know what to do.
