Being Me

Being me isn't something I'd recommend. I haven't lived the best life, but I haven't lived the worst. I can say that being me is a reflection of many others.

Being me is going to school where your skin tells you who you are. Where everyone has a name for each other, but yours comes from the face. Where teachers would pass subtle hints and students would speak unnoticed.

Being me is hearing the same question from countless people. They would ask, "Where are you from?" and you'd reply, "From here." Then their faces twist in confusion and clarify, "Where in the world?" like you haven't already said.

Being me is having no one else to talk to when it gets hard. It becomes difficult when you can't respond to the name meant to describe you. If you do, you're now the hateful one.

Being me is when you want to act, but you know you shouldn't. You understand the consequences too well to act. You know it so well that simply thinking it could affect your loved ones.

Being me is being alone in your emotions. Everyone you love is too far to help or too busy to ask. Everyone tries to comfort and relate, but their story isn't yours to bother.

Being me is dreaming of the impossible. Wanting to rewrite history so that generations before and after wouldn't face the same things today. Wanting to live a new life in a new world to avoid it all.

Being me is a story others have lived, but also one that the rest should see.