Being scared is a natural reaction to indifferent surroundings that aren't in your normal lives. Being scared gives you little bumps up and down your arms even though you're not cold; the little hairs on your arms stand to make forests of armor for whatever is coming your way. It sends an image of something you love most to your head so you have a perfect, final thought.
You're imagination explodes the thought of all safety and redemption when you're gone, you let small tears shimmer down your cheek as you cry intensely. You fall to the hard, cold concrete and try to stop hyperventilating. You slowly pull your legs into your chest as you try to warm and comfort yourself in the state of danger. You pull your dainty, sad body into the corner where all of the walls meet; where you meet your maker.
You pull yourself in deeper and closer to hold in the fear as the darkness creeps over you and you know it's almost time to approach your fears. The dark shadow creeps slowly into your little corner and you see what you're really scared of. Yourself.
You stare into the eyes of the body you despised your entire life; you see a mess of yourself: everything you hate but in full view. You notice the little muffin top above the Jean shorts that are too short and show off your slightly pudgy legs. You notice the little bit of hair growing above your knee that always bothered you but you were too scared to shave it; you always feared shaving your knees. Your hair was in a pony-tail like it was everyday and your clothes were too small. You still wore tee-shirts while everyone else pulled off lace and silk shirts. The converse you got in 8th grade still fit so you didn't throw them away, you just kept wearing them. Your socks didn't match and and they had holes in the bottom; even though you can't see them you know they're there. Your face is breaking out like always and you needed to fix your eyebrows. You chewed at your fingernails because you tried to stop eating; you hated your body.
All these little things added up in your mind; they hit your shoulders and fell on your spirit every morning when you looked in the mirror to go to work and school.
Your job was at a sub shop and almost weekly, like a ritual curse, you ended up with a mad customer that liked to throw sandwiches. At school you got adequate grades but were still yelled at for it.
You tried hard; you still were yelled at. School took up most of your time and not many people wanted to be your friend, some only lasting a week. School was hard to balance with work, family and chores. School was most important till you found out you weren't going to college because you can't afford it.
Every morning you woke up and cried. You didn't own make-up; you woke up an hour before you left to sit there and stare at the ceiling as tears crept onto your sheets after they cooled your cheeks.
You say in front of you a mess of a human being and that's what scared you the most; never changing.
