Truth

“Daughter,”

“Daughter,”

a girl or woman in relation to either or both of her parents.

The word spills effortlessly from my parents’ lips.

I resist the urge to cry

Away from the prying eye

of Society.

I relish in the memories

of my best friend mistaking me for another.

of my brother calling me his own.

of my mother jokingly asking if I was ever wearing a bathing suit again.

I relish in her expression when I tell her no.

of my father asking

why?

Why am I cutting my hair?

Why do I want it shorter?

Saying

no!

to the inquires, as my mind sorted through

all the things I wish I had said, but never spoke.

The things I contain even now, yet. I choke.

And although I relish, I also hide away.

From the mirror and the scale

From my own room.

From my own past.

I gently reach to the mindset of my youth,

who spent too much time playing with friends to ponder why she felt uncomfortable in a bikini.

I swiftly reach to the mindset of my present,

who spent too much time on the bathroom floor ignoring their prodding ribs and instead focusing on

their stomach and thighs.

I desperately reach to the mind of my future,

who smiles at me with an oversized shirt and too-tight pants while he watches the tears drip down my face.

Yet I am smiling,

And clutching my chest.