By 3, she has noticed the world around her is made up of words, and more words 

By 4, she is enthralled beyond measure

By 5, she will not rest until she knows how to decipher the code, on the sides of trucks, on magazine covers, in the bible her grandmother carries around

By 6, she breaks the code

By 7, she cannot stop speaking, the words spill out of her like light spills into a dark room in the early hours of the morning

By 8, she realizes the effect of words when someone points out how she is spilling out of her clothes 

By 9, she has learned to express the effect of the words through her messy handwriting: Diary of an Adolescent Bulimic 

By 10, she finds there is little use for the spoken word, by 10 she fears the reaction to every sound she makes, she fears being too large to love, in voice and figure and by 10 she is convinced that she must be small

By 11, she is silent 

By 12, her mind is not.

By 13, she is tired of the racing thoughts, she needs a rest from her own head, she needs a rest from her body

By 14, she tries to abandon it

By 15, she screams, her feelings return, she cannot live the empty life she has so carelessly been lead to believe is the only life for someone her size, she explodes with the anger of it all, with the injustice that no one could love her as she is. By 15, she has more love than she knows what to do with, she loves fiercely and painfully, finds light in everyone but herself, by 15 she does not remember who told her she could not be loved. By 15, she sees the world through different eyes, and she is angry. She cannot contain the words this time, no, someone must speak and she will not let her opportunity slip away. Someone should tell the 8 year old that she needs to shout her love for herself from the rooftops, brand it on the cracked walls of her home, share it with anyone who will listen.

By 16, she can speak. Loudly.