Now I Am Myself

I was told angry isn't pretty, smashed glass just looks like insanity when it's your fists doing the talking. I want to rhyme everything, but I'm no poet - or, at least, that's what my reflection is telling me, every moment.

They say formal writing doesn't use apostrophes, too informal and not enough effort put forward. I filled out my applications in red ink and was surprised when they came back as rejections, too much emotion doesn't equal achievement.

In fact, when I look in the mirror, I see someone who will never amount to anything, but isn't that every white girl on the planet in my age bracket?

I define myself based on my race, age, gender. How are we doing today, women of my same demographic? I look in the mirror and see them succeeding, me fading, when I turn on the faucet, it's to wash away my inadequacies.

I feel like it's either friend or foe we're looking at when we see our own reflection. Hatred, or understanding. But does anyone love who they are and also how they present in this world we inhabit?

In the mirror, I see a weird face, a grim little smile. I read Anne Sexton yesterday; she said: Once I was beautiful, now I am myself. I cried in the shower and took her words to heart. Maybe when I was younger I loved who I was, but now, it's a grey area, territory my many personalities don't dare to cross for fear of getting lost.