To the young creature, 

jumpy "you don't know nothing" on her street,

sedated "can somebody please buy me something to eat?" in the subway,

and her name repeated on a recursive loop at day

leave her offended, defensive, and defeated.

How could she possible laugh?

Is she cruel?

She knows better than to close her heart to others.

To the young creature,

who excites herself too much before a project, 

she yearns to learn how to digital art and video so badly 

before she decides on the content,

that she doesn't take the first step of a journey of a thousand.

She knows better than to fail before she starts.

College comes in a month.

Will she make her family proud?

They immigrated for her!

She knows better than to waste efforts.

To the young creature,

who rarely leaves the confinements of her room,

comforting smooth tones of violins, 

and skips and beats of the drums

makes her heart soar and head spin. 

Why can't she create music like this?

Does she not have talent?

She knows better than to enjoy

the love, the untouchable, and the useless.

To the young creature,

who doubts herself and thinks herself bland as a bagel, 

the mirror says she needs a cure.

Cheeks miss flowing blood,

sad brown pupils creating dark shadows under her eyes,

pink pimples setting camp on her face for a few months,

and legs so hairy.

Does she abuse her physical machine?

Will she stop comparing herself to other girls?

She knows better than to stress over dress and tests. 

Yet when the young creature sketches,

her small hands no longer seem so small,

her fingers create darting creatures of flight, 

her tired, cloudy eyes see

the fine lines through the night.

Her head spinning and ideas a-hopping.

School's a month and miles away, 

disappoint decays,

right eyebrow twitching, 

hope flushing through her cheeks.

Will she ever be satisfied?

Nope. Sorry, but not sorry.

That's just how she is.