Just one look in the mirror.
With one blink of an eye.
I am reminded. Always.
Call me a misfit if you please, I won't even be bothered. I may just get used to it. As I always do. I've been called different names, behind my back and to my face.
It is my burden to bear. It has always been and it always will be.
Don't try to be super nice when you see me. Don't ask any questions neither, just let me be.
I try to forget, believe me I do. Everyone around me acts like it never happened. Like it could be so easily forgotten, but not one of them knows how it feels like to be stared at.
None of them knows how it feels like to be laughed at.
You may think it hard for a person like me to make any friends, but believe me when I say that I wouldn't know, because I have none and with a curse like mine, I have never even made an effort.
Everyone that tries to get close to me, I push away. Not that I don't want anyone around me, I just don't want to be the cause.
When I asked my mom that day if I was ugly, she looked at me with eyes filled with tears, she patted down my sweater like she was dusting off something only visible to her eyes.
"Don't let this scar on your face fool you my dear", she started, her voice shaking, "you are the most beautiful daughter a mother could ever ask for".
And with tears racing down her slightly red cheeks, "And know that I will always love you, no matter what".
Then she ran her fingers down my scar, my burden, the light pink zigzag edged line in the middle of my face, my conviction.
It's my life, it was my tale, so I told it.
