Dear Little Me,

Stop. Stop focusing on what people think of you, and instead on finding people that cherish you for being you. Stop hanging out with people that make you feel insecure about the jeans you wear, and rather those that come to visit you with flowers in the hospital every day until you get better. Stop worrying about the future, and live your life to the fullest in any situation you're put in. Stop overcomplicating your life, and focus on the good things you're surrounded by. Stop letting social media construct the image you have of yourself, and be happy with who you are. Stop thinking that life will 'get good', and instead, make your life 'good'. Stop stressing, and start smiling, because life isn't gonna stop for you.

What I see behind the mirror.

There's no solid answer, really.

In the beginning, I used to wake up, with bright blue eyes staring right back at me. Eyebrows curved nice, dark hair just barely wavy, and a toothy white smile. My cheeks spread wide, I'd laugh like no tomorrow. I was happy.

Then, for a time, that changed. That became someone I could only wish to be. I compared myself to models online. I looked in the mirror, seeing dark bumps under my eyes. My blue eyes seemed dull, my hair out of place. My teeth tinted yellow, my smile unnatural. Pimples were growing, polluting my face, and that smile became a frown. I'd look away.

Now, I see the bumps on my face. I see my short eyelashes, and the eyebrow lines out of place. I noticed the slight bump on my tummy, the curve on my thighs, and the discoloration of my face. I also see a beautiful woman, with curious blue eyes. With dark hair framing her face, and a smile that could light up any room. I see happiness, and I see confidence. I see imperfections. But those imperfections made me, me. Those imperfections, were of perfection.

I fall in love with my reflection.

I sat there, tainted.

An image in my mind,

that I couldn't get out no matter how much I tried.

Her blue eyes and plump lips,

dark hair and straight teeth.

"Ew"

She mouthed the words,

I knew them before I heard them.

I'd heard them enough times before,

I just never thought they'd be from her.

"Ew"

The word keeps replaying in my head

like a tape recorder stuck on repeat.

"Ew"

That describes me

What she thought of me

What I thought of her didn’t matter

It didn’t matter

if I thought her eyes were beautiful,

if her laugh was my favorite sound,

if her cheeky comments made my day,

Or if her slight blush would make me crumble if it was ever directed my way.

It didn’t matter if I’d smile everytime our fingers touched,

Or lie to her about my grade just to make her feel better.

It didn’t matter,

Because to her,

I was just an “Ew”

I opened the backdoor windows, blinding light streaming through. The garden was full. It had orchids, carnations, tulips and roses. Pink ones, white ones, purple ones. She hated them. She sneezed every time we walked by the forest and rashes came alive when she passed gardens. She hated them -called them a nuisance. I was adamant to disagree. I saw them as a gift from mother nature, all bright and free -everything I used to be. Everything I so desperately wanted to become again. The faint aroma they let out, the slight colors they blossomed into. The way the leaves would rustle with every blow of wind. They were beautiful. But maybe, it wasn't the flowers that were beautiful. Maybe it was the slight scowl on her face at the sight of them or the scrunch of her nose when it smelt bad. Maybe it was that she would rant to me for hours when her allergies got worse. Because now, now that she's gone, they don't look so bright anymore. I pass by the garden again. It's ironic that everyone's giving me flowers now. It was manners, I suppose. It was meant to fill some void in my heart, bring some happiness during the dull days. But it wouldn't bring her back. They were sent as a sign of pity, pity for me. Pointless pity, from people who barely knew me -let alone her. They didn't even know she hated flowers. Please don't send me flowers.

Marks of a sharp pin,

Stomach’s curling in.

Ribs in sight.

A shirt that’s two sizes too tight.

Still not good enough.

White stick rolled between my lips.

My stomachs looking big again,

Was it because of those chips?

Cuts on my thigh,

And no one nearby.

Was beauty always this hard to attain?

Periwinkle flowers circled the grave like a blanket, so bright yet so tender. I was going to miss this. I was going to miss him. It’s been a year since he’s been gone, but I just can’t seem to process it. This is it. The last time I'm going to see his grave for a while. In a few weeks, I'll have moved across the nation -far from his grave. I would have to start to my new job in the busy streets of New York, full of construction sands and unfinished buildings. God I hoped I was making the right decision looking for a new start.

“MOM!”

The sweet voice of my daughter whips me out of my daydream, waving a bottle of new sunscreen lotion in front of me, and I quickly wipe any tear that may have fallen from my eyes. I look down at her through my shades, making out her beautiful blue eyes and soft chocolate skin she got from her father.

“Hi princess!”

She lets out a frown once she eyes the burr stuck to her clothing, likely from the forest she just walked through. I let out a giggle before I bent down, taking it out for her and throwing it far in the cemetery. She looks back to stare at the grave in front of us.

“I miss daddy” she says, the frown still prevalent on her face.

“I miss him too sweetie”.