at 11, i became.

i like my clothes,

but am i more of a woman

with them off

who is "i," anyway?

the one through the mirror,

the lilac tinted glasses,

or their eyes in the hall

is my skin too light,

or my hair too tame

i don't sunburn, but

i burn my hair once a week

are they looking at me

or through me

her laughter makes me angry

what has she done

to be so happy

am i too far gone?

is my body really mine, or my mother's

for i wear her skin,

and smile as my own

why am i the only one

to take pictures of me

if they are so jealous,

do my own eyes lie to me

why do i see what they can't

everything happens too quickly

but for them it is too slow

will i ever be a woman,

with my clothes on, makeup off

my heart is too big

for my body, i am

only fifteen

i bleed once a month,

in more ways than one.