Growing Up

The boys I liked never liked me.

They didn’t walk me home, or sit outside my house throwing rocks, or tell the other boy to ‘fuck off’

They never wrote poems about my smile, or complimented my shampoo, they didn’t stand on cafeteria table and sing songs from the 80s.

They walked right past me in halls, and stores, and city streets.

Their blank stares like rushes of ice cold air waking a hatred for myself.

It wasn’t like the movies, my invisibility didn’t wash off, and no amount of makeovers would change the fact that they never saw me, as a whole person.

I wasn’t easy, but somehow I was a slut.

I wasn’t pretty, but somehow I was vain.

They didn’t notice they called me the wrong name.

Repeatedly.

They didn’t notice we did, in fact, have math together

They didn’t notice that I was anything but a stick figure passing through their colorful life.

The boys I liked never liked me and I wonder so many days…

IF they had would I be as strong today?

No.

I think I would be someone else.

It may still sting my inner child’s pride, but I never have to think about turning back.

I never have to regret these 2493 miles.

I never have to tow anyone’s line because I was made strong on my own two feet.