That girl I used to be was cute, with doe eyes.
I don’t care what others think, but the woman I am now adores her
And wonders why she couldn’t do the same.

And this girl I used to be was outgoing and laid back;
she spoke her mind and befriended everyone,
till some older women told her to behave; her sight was unpleasant.

The girl I once was became reticent and reserved,
seen as cold, distant, and unapproachable,
frustrating others with her introversion.

The girl I used to be studied very hard,
because that was the only way she knew to be worthy of her mother's love,
while her peers whispered, “She had it easy.”

And this girl I once was wanted to look pretty;
she applied her sister's make-up and donned the best clothes she had,
but the person sitting next to her said her polished appearance reflected her shallow mind—and lack of intelligence.

There was a time when the little girl whom I was, loved to be part of the girls' clique,
so comfortable, she made a mistake that made her shunned, jeered, and isolated for years—
till she found unforeseeable support from the boys.

So that girl I once was, she stuck with them,
as she was both jealous and scared of the girls;
she was so confused that she declared, “I am just not like the other girls.”

But the girl I used to be was notorious,
for girls saw her as a seductress,
and boys said she looked easy.

As years passed, the girl I used to be got a little bit chubby and curvy,
a feast to men’s hunting eyes, and fell prey to judging remarks
of her un-ideal body.

So that girl I once was ate just a slice of bread a day,
and stuck her fingers down the throat in the restroom,
so she could feel safe and feel good about herself.

The girl I used to be was so lonely
that she compromised to settle with anyone who could offer her comfort—
and returned with a scar on her hand, heart, and head.

And this girl I once was, was very independent and knew what she wanted,
till she was urged to enter voluntary confinement and give up her dream,
because that was just how girls are supposed to be.

The girl I was, haunted by memories within,
could only fall asleep inside the wardrobe or under the bed,
and took pill after pill so she could stop thinking of dying.

That girl I used to be took so many forms,
she tuned herself so many times,
trying to look like everyone and be liked by everyone.
As she was in search of a place where she belonged.

But the woman I am is a work in progress,
as with every phase, a different guise,
each mask worn, I learned a lesson from the girl.
And now, I anchor my happiness with myself,
as I figured that I was my own lighthouse and harbor, the captain of my ship,
and I learned to navigate through the waves, and not be uncharted.

And I am proud of the girl I used to be,
for remarkably enduring every phase
and choosing to stay alive
and stepping outside the wall built by others, little by little.
All I wish is that I could embrace her and say,
“Things would not get better, but you would be.
As you realize how foolish your younger self was,
you’ll learn to make amends and not to regret,
and be the best version of yourself
in every situation that matters.”

Feature Image by Rosy / Bad Homburg / Germany from Pixabay