I am not stupid.

I am not perfect.

I am not fake.

I am not honest.

I am not who you see every day.

I am not defined by my body.

I am not nothing.

I am a human being.

Someone who should not be

Judged by how I look on a ‘bad’ day.

Someone who should not be judged

By my gender, culture, or family.

 

You don’t know me.

What you see before you is a blank version of me.

A simple girl—perhaps strange to some

But nonetheless unknown.

At school, you don’t know me.

You think you do--

by the way, I dress or talk

Or simply breathe.

But I am not her.

At least not completely.

 

I am a country, surrounded by

Mountainous walls.

I don’t let anyone in because

At last, too many have broken their

Promises.

I am not that girl.

Yet I am.

 

Imperfection curses through

My veins uncontrollably.

Scenes of untold stories

Scarring my mind.

Dreams and insecurities

Burning my sight.

 

I have things to tell but

I am scared.

Because who I am outside,

Is not fully who I am truly.

Because inside,

I am chaos and passion and misery.

But the fear of judgments

Becomes my phobia and

I am now no one.

Yet I am.

Yet I am someone--