She Was Better

For as long as she could remember, she always wanted to be better.

And, sitting at a lone table in the cafeteria like she always did, she thought about what it meant to be good enough.

How she never was.

Pressure assaulted, stress crushed, and tension snapped her day after day.

But she was better than them, the kids who always had fun.

Made Cs.

Had friends.

Relationships.

Parents.

Birthday parties.

How hard she tried never seemed to matter.

She wanted to be like them, but they rejected her like they knew what she was.

Trash.

Memories flooded her mind in a wash of red embarrassment and rage, and she remembered.

When her parents didn't want her and abandoned her to the system when she was born, and given to foster parents who demanded perfection.

And how she was better, and gave it to them.

When she didn't make honor roll in elementary, they called her stupid.

And how she was better, and made it every year after that.

When she was thirteen and the first boy she wrote a note to threw it away, she asked him why and he told her she was fat.

And how she was better, and stopped eating every day.

When kids went to parties, she never got an invitation and found out it was because she wasn't cool.

And how she was better, and made money so they'd like her.

When she was seventeen and raped after given drugs put in her drink on her first date, she found out that she'd been used.

And how she was better, and realized that she would never be accepted the way she wanted.

Her rejection never changed.

No matter how much she did.

So she stood up, sighted, and showed everyone just how much better she was.