2016

I look in the mirror, I look at my humidified puffy dark brown hair and my olive skin. My eyes are inspid. My forehead is enormous. I hate the way I look. Why can't I be pretty? Why can't I be happy? 

2008

I was 7, I was always getting picked on. I was a tall but husky girl. I wore my hair in two braids like the way Wendy's icon does. I was a tomboy, I liked playing sports like soccer baseball. That was my favorite sport. 

I had two friends serria and denise. Serria was an African American girl who was bossy, but loved to dance and sing. Denise was loud and had no filter. We were a group, when we weren't fighting. We all went to daycare with eachother after school too. 

Other girls used to pick on me only. They used to call me fat and ugly. They used to pull on my hair and make fun of the way I dress. They used to tell me I'm stupid and that my dad didn't love me that why I don't have one.  

I took it for a long ass time, then I got fed up. I fought this one boy tyrell for making fun of me. I started getting into more and more fights. I wasn't taking nobody's shit anymore. I often got in trouble by ms.sharp, my principle. 

She was an elderly Caucasian woman with short brown hair, glasses, wrinkly skin and a petite body. She gave me a special learning plan because she thought I was slow, but I wasn't slow I was just standing up for myself.