Age

It's a scary thing to think about

Because with a bigger number

Chances become smaller

At least that's what we are taught.

So what if people didn't have a number to define them?

What if we were just all living?

Nobody closer to death

Nobody fading from success

And equal chances for all.

We are told that if we stall,

We will miss our chance.

We will be too stiff to dance

Too weary to sing

And simply waiting forever for what life shall bring.

It's a number.

The possibilities are limitless.

So why do we enable such a label of age?

Letters.

Those letters make up words

Words that slide off your tongue

And creep into my ears.

They don't just simply "hurt."

They punch me.

They stab me.

They break me.

My breath is taken away by your anger.

I am stabbed by the hatred in your eyes

And I fall apart by how sharp your words are.

I am on the ground

Unable of pulling myself up.

I am unable to defend myself

I am unable to make truce

As I lay helpless.

One day I will have to get up again.

I will have to pretend you didn't affect me

But in reality

You bent me so hard

To the point where I couldn't convince myself that I was anything other than

Broken.

For now

I lay

As I wait for the day

Where you pick me up

And apologize

for leaving me in the dust.

Dear Best Friend Forever,

I don't really think you understand what forever truly means.

You say you will always be in my life, yet you shove me away to be with people you just met.

You ignore my texts as they are unimportant compared to your own status.

As if I am unworthy of being your friend.

You take pictures with me to put on your Instagram account simply so you can say you've had a lifelong best friend.

You only hang out with me when you are upset because the primary people you want to see are unavailable.

For you, it is all about how you show yourself off to the world.

You care about the amount of twitter followers you have,

If your butt looks "good enough" to post a photo,

The amount of people that you can play with to simply have more attention.

And so I wonder,

Are we truly Best Friends?

You won't admit to me that this is you're life.

I've tried to express my feelings to you,

But they don't matter.

I am sick and tired of being in your shadow.

You're backup plan,

And You're shoulder to cry on

Someday the rest of the world will finally understand Exactly what I have done all along.

Anyone with a label of "best" shouldn't have to put others through this.

I hope that one day you are someone's greatest friend, and you will be there for them for always,

But I can no longer continue being haunted by this abbreviation known as

"BFF"

Me.

Only me.

Only I can control the words that slip off of my tongue

Only I can control the emotions I portray to the world

Only I can find the path to loving who I am

And learn to embrace myself

For God created us to all be equally loved

Equally important

Equally beautiful.

You have no right to tell me who I'm not or who I'm supposed to be

Because..

Only I

Will will let the world see who I want to be.

Me.

Yes, you made many mistakes.

You left me in tears for weeks.

I felt like had to convince myself I wasn't crazy for feeling like this.

My mind said I needed a break,

but my heart overpowered my thoughts.

I don't regret going back to you.

Things are not the same

And who knows who to blame?

True love is when you can look past someone's flaws and mistakes and still love them, as every mistake is a lesson needed to be learned.

You are still funny.

You still can put a smile on my face .

And you still can calm the tears I embrace.

This is why,

My darling,

I still love you.

Once upon a time,

a girl was lying in her bed crying.

She wasn't crying because of a breakup or being a broke teenager.

She was crying because she was holding up a mirror.

The concealer she had put on could not cover the mental scarring she had been given with years of being told pretty enough for a soul to love her

Her straightened hair could not hide how she couldn't straighten up her fear of being unlovable.

The heels she wore were unable to set her above her problems.

So she kept looking, and she then realized how all books that start with "once upon a time" always end up having a happy ending.

And it was at this moment when she realized that her story was not over

And her happy ending is yet to come.

So she wiped away her concealer, that hid her flaws.

Washed her hair back to its frizzy, imperfect state.

Took off the heels that ached her feet, simply so she could be taller.

She looked back at the mirror and saw herself.

She realized that she was living a timeless story, one to occur to thousands of others.

But she knew that in the end, she would only become stronger from her current despair,

As every "once upon a time" story will end in prosperity.

Because of my illness I always felt sick.

Because of my illness I missed many classes.

Because of my illness I missed many parties.

Because of my illness I lost many friends.

Because of my illness I was always home.

Because of my illness I was crying as I showered.

Because of my illness I was given heartless labels.

Because of my illness I was in therapy for years.

Because of my illness I quit the sport I loved.

Because of my illness I feared the food keeping me alive.

Because of my illness I would run home from school crying.

Because of my illness I thought I was worthless.

One day, I finally realized that I am not my illness. My illness is with me, but it does not define me.

Because of my illness

I finally see

That there is more to life than simple "me".

I sit there in the hospital bed

Wondering to myself, "why me?"

I've had the same surgery 6 times before,

Yet nothing has truly changed.

They thought I was better

But I didn't feel better.

The voices in my head kept screaming at me that I wouldn't make it in the world if I had nothing to be pitied for.

The doctors didn't have to read my files to know who I was. I was constantly there, so they knew me by face.

As time went by, I was told that I was diseased again.

Months of healing gone to waste.

The doctors said to me "You deserve better" as they walked out of the room I laid in.

As they said this I realized I was "better" in my current state,

because "better" to them meant physically healing.

I should want to be "better", but with that label I am simply:

Nameless,

Faceless.

What they see is what shall be, and "better" is equivalent to "normal."

I will never be "normal" after what I've been through, but if the label of "better" is placed upon me, I am normal. I am faceless. I am nameless.