Too many expectations to live up to,

too many false aspirations suggested.

Too much self-hate toward one’s body,

not enough self-content.

An infinitesimal amount of satisfaction when glancing in a mirror,

an immense amount of “Ugh, I look ugly.

Is she prettier than me?

How can I look like her?”

Too many trial and errors of mundane objects,

not enough relief the first time.

Too much society,

not enough me.

I am not the makeup that cakes young girls’ faces,

I am not the skirts and crop tops that flaunts in the wind,

I am not the tears that pour because of bad grades or a love lost,

I am not the photoshopped magazine cover girls aspire to look like,

I am not the leftover food girls refuse to eat because society tells them beauty is a skinny body.

I am not the hated reflection of myself,

I am not the self-hatred inflicted on others for my satisfaction.

No.

I am not the countless tubes of mascara,

palettes of eyeshadow,

or containers of foundation used for altercation.

I am not the scars that forever lay in a cracked heart.

I am not the yelling that is bounced around throughout my house.

I am not the scissors girls wish to use to cut the “excess” stomach.

I am not the “can’t dos and won’t dos”,

I am certainly not the bystander that stands for injustice.

No.

I am not the vegetables being thrown in soup by my mom,

I am not the housewife cooking and cleaning ‘til days end,

I am not the submissive follower attending to my husband’s commands.

I am not mother who shows her kids that women are acquiescent,

I am not the sister that encourages her sister to marry without real love,

I am not the daughter that will subject herself to only fulfilling the needs of a man.

No.

I am the achiever coming home to my husband cooking dinner.

I am the CEO facilitating my employees,

I am the mother who shows her kids that willpower is present in anyone,

I am the sister who wants to see her sister happy,

I am the daughter that will make a name, an identity, a persona for herself.

I am the music notes that dance in the air when I sing,

I am the leftover pencil shavings and eraser crumbs after hours of sketching.

I am the witty jokes and puns that make people smile when they look away,

Yes.

I am the upbeat airwaves of electronic music blasting through speakers.

I am the argumentative feminist words that fly all over the courthouse,

I am the Nike kicks that take me where I need to go.

I am the path of resistance, not going without a fight.

Yes, that’s me.

I am the three cups of coffee that aid me in studious allnighters,

I am the little toddler with a new toy making new discoveries.

I am the lion in a pack of cubs.

I am the hugs of comfort, joy, and sadness.

I am a paradox;

for I know what I am and am not but not why I am.