I am the girl who when she looks in the mirror, she sees someone fat . . . Someone whose face is obscure and someone whose nose is to big. When I look in the mirror I see reflection of something that I detest beyond reason. I hate the face that I see. The eyes sometimes don’t even measure up to the beauty that I want to see . . . that I want to feel. The hair is breaking, the hair is short. Guys call my name but not the ones I want. Sometimes I hide from them as though their making a game of me. In one mirror I can look somewhat pretty and in other not so much. Some pictures I look good, but most don’t measure up. It burns me up inside when I see other girls . . . because they look like models while I in my head look like a dog—worse than that. This is what I see when I look in the mirror. But I never cry . . . I never cry . . . I just cry invisible tears . . .
I am the boy who when I walk through the door everyone flocks to me. But they don’t understand me. Or necessarily care for me. It’s only because I have this talent with a ball, and I stand 6’4’’. They don’t see that when I go home there’s nothing there. That when I go home my mom is at work and she don’t come in till like 11 at night. They don’t understand that my brother disappeared, on to college. They don’t understand that he’s smart and I’m not and that feel insecure because I’m not as smart as him. But they don’t see that. They don’t understand that the reason why I am is because there was nothing else to do. I waited hours for my mother to come pick me up when I was young after school . . . where all children would desert and go home. There was only me and a ball and the sitting sun, so I just pound the ball against the ground and in a sense releasing all the anger that I contained. And its as though I only began to receive love when I became good, and so I wanted to keep that . . . because that’s the only attention I ever had . . . With my dad no where to be found . . . maybe somewhere in the ground so when they crowd around me I no its fake . . . Which drives me to invisible tears . . .
I am the bad bitch of the land. Yea that’s who I am. I don’t give a fuck bout nobody. I run this shit. Don’t nobody mess with me because if they do they know I ain’t scared to hop out there and do work on a bitch. I talk to much, I’m the loudest one in the group, they all flock to me, the guys can’t stop staring at me . . . But I know it’s not what it’s all caked up to be. All I do now is just smoke weed, to get me to a place where I don’t have to deal with the things that really press me to unbridled anger. I used to be the quiet one. I bet you don’t even remember me. I’ve transformed. Because I need something. I need some attention. The attention to make me feel like I’m here. Like somebody sees me so you know I gotta have a boyfriend every week . . . But its costing me my reputation and my real friends keep drifting away from me . . . At home there’s no one. My dad forgot about me, and momma died long time ago. I never cried though . . . It’s life-Weexy. So I just keep cheesing while he keeps chasing after her who could never be her who brought me into the world while all in all it tears me up inside . . . But go with the flow yah know, when I’m at my highest high I just cry invisible tears . . .
I am. But you don’t see me. Tell me where I be in this game that we call life. Tell me where I hide behind the lies and what is my true pain. Tell me where and when it will be when I will come forth from the you who has transfigured me. Because here I can’t breathe. Here I suffocate to a death, to an isolation, to an anger that doesn’t match me. I dream to be! But I cannot be! I just want to cry but it is as though tears will not fall from me. They refuse. I believe it due to a callous that has over took me . . . I just cry invisible tears
