I was simply a child with a goofy smile.
Who got beaten every once in a while.
Because I didn't fit in, and blend.
I didn't pay attention to the trends.
Seems like every time I was held under water, I continued to swim.
I no longer needed air, comfortable in my skin.
My father owned a church, and my mother had a hair place.
Both of them yelled when I put my hair over my face.
I dressed how I wished, and kissed whoever I wanted to kiss.
And when people started hurting me, I started slitting my wrists.
I thought no one would care.
No one wants me to be here or there. Or anywhere.
I knew I was right when my parents kicked me out.
I blamed my thirteen year old self, and my loud mouth.
I don't think I ever felt more alone.
Walking down the street with only the sound of my feet.
Sometimes I'd jump around in the rain, but sometimes I'd cry on most days.
My parents thought who I was--was only a phase.
That I wanted some sick attention.
And that's when I started having to go eat at small soup kitchens.
Till I found someone who took me in, and they were so kind.
I continued to move on to high school, and I felt like I shouldn't be alive.
I was bullied and pushed around, people said some mean things.
These annoying, judgmental fuckers had me down on my knees, begging please.
Every day was another sick joke.
Every day I thought pain was all that the world wrote.
Till I started finding people who understood.
I could finally be myself, I actually could.
I had never felt more equal.
Never felt more peaceful.
Never felt like me before.
But I opened up the box, and stood on the outside.
I started coloring outside the lines.
And now, being me, feels just fine.
