I will hear the words. I will hear the hate. I will see the pain. I will see their fate. It may not be me, it may not be her, but whoever it is, I will feel hurt. They will tell me I’m not good enough, not strong enough, not smart enough, not small enough. They will tell me I can’t sit with them, they will tell me I can’t be one of them, and they will tell me I will never be like them. They will wear short skirts and high waisted t-shirts. They will make their hair straight and I will contemplate, why?
Why do they curse? Why to they bully? Why do they hurt? Why was it me, why was it her? Why am I not good enough, not strong enough, not smart enough, not small enough? Why can’t I sit with them, be one of them, never be like them? Why do they want to show skin? Why do they want their hair straight? I still contemplate.
But you know what I discovered? You want to know what I found? That God made me the way I am and that’s He’s proud. I don’t curse, because it’s wrong. I don’t hate, because that wasn’t my fate. I don’t hurt because when other people hurt, that’s my hurt as well. I am good enough, strong enough, smart enough, and small enough for God. My size is just a number; it does not define who I am. I don’t need to sit with then, because I’m sitting next to Jesus. I don’t want to be like them, because I want to be like Jesus. I don’t want to show my skin, because I’m waiting for the one who will think I’m precious instead of prideful. I don’t want my hair straight, because my waves are endless strings of gold. And you know what?
I don’t contemplate anymore.