She, I, We: My Story

Updated: Nov 7, 2019

Section 1: Serious

That grouchy girl glares when people play with her hair. Few can make her laugh. She doesn’t talk very much—only in her curly head is she content.

I’m a small girl that is mistaken for a doll. I am nervous around people and trust few with my laughter. I talk when I have something to say. My imagination gets me out of my head.

A contemplative girl’s hair curls with many thoughts, a child with an insatiable hunger to know and be known. Yet, she puts up walls thinking she is protecting those from what is within.

Section 2: Reading

That girl stays in at recess to read. We all know she’s a teacher’s pet. Later, she reads Shakespeare for fun. That girl thinks she is so much smarter than us.

I look up with a wet face, not completely understanding, but knowing my innermost being has been struck—a bell, ringing and reverberating. Thoughts I could never put into words are here. I am awake.

A girl devours worlds through words. The doors of her mind open to wash her insides with light and long-cast shadows. She laughs. She cries. She wonders with the world’s brightest minds .

Section 3: Anxiety

That girl doesn’t play if she still has homework. That girl can drift off in her head with glassy eyes. She wiggles her leg; she wiggles her foot. Just calm down.

i did something wrong i don’t want to get in trouble about what i haven’t done what i have done why isn’t it ever enough the walls are closing in i have to stop i don’t know how to stop i can’t stop this won’t ever stop

Instincts kick in as her heart races. The world is a predator. She flies with reckless desperation. .

Section 4: Music

That girl has a pretty voice. My niece is better, though. That girl gets all the parts she wants without even trying. She always has to win.

I came home from my recital and cried. I dedicated my performance to God, but it wasn’t my best. Like an addict, I keep going back to the stage, the music, to those moments of living on a higher plane of reality.

Filled with wells of emotion, a girl sings waking to quench the thirst of a faceless crowd.

Section 5: Depression

That girl still isn’t out of bed. She doesn’t know what hard work is. Mental illness is valid, but some people just don’t help themselves.

…I…am…so heavy…I…shouldn’t feel like…this…why…do I feel like…this?…I…haven’t slept…I’m…doing something…wrong…I’m…wrong…I’m…a burden…I…deserve to…be punished…maybe…I will …

A genetic minefield is set off in a gasping woman. Her colors bleed gray. She has to feel anything other than the void: she pinches; she cuts; she continues to bleed.

Section 6: Connection

That girl is off the map. She hardly ever posts. How does she expect to keep in touch?

I have eyes that hear and ears that see. You do too. One touch, word, look can sing a thousand pictures. I speak you, you speak me.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,

Though I must go, endure not yet

A breach, but an expansion,

Like gold to airy thinness beat.

- “A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning” by John Donne

Section 7: Fault

That girl was wearing a tight skirt. His hand accidentally slid too far down. She put herself in that situation. Both are at fault, but it’s mostly her fault.

Did I imagine his hand there? He is my church leader. I shouldn’t be thinking that about him. I shouldn’t have worn this skirt. I've been lied to. We both are at fault, but it’s mostly my fault.

Predatory thoughts render him devoid of authority. No God can justify the sinister air no one believes he sucked from her lungs. He is the product of a blind world. Both him and society are at fault, but it’s mostly his fault.

Section 8: God

If she is good, she will be loved. If she disregards the rules, she will be spurned. If she prays and eats vegetables she will be healed. Appear to be what you aren't; Don't appear to be what you are.


twist hands tight

fleshy man-made masks

share words through stale air

scavenge scraps from last week

to better Munch for a moldy meal

or just go away in a van with Vincent.

relearn binary too and apply two layers

use a black primer to paint a white wall

brittle toxins become a daily password.

all sunlight unknowingly creates shade

she thinks her spikes are in her spine

she won’t see gaping hell’s mouth.

Our Father, which art in heaven,

lead us not into temptation.

Give us this our daily bread

on earth as it is in heaven.

forgive us our trespasses

who trespass against us

for ever and ever.

Thy will be done,

but deliver us from evil

For thine is the kingdom.

Hallowed be thy name,

as we forgive the

power and the glory,

Thy kingdom come.


Compassion knows no bounds, has no prejudice, and is more intimate than touch. Your weaknesses; Our weaknesses. Your strengths; Our strengths. Your love, Our love.

Section 9: Suicide

*Whispered*: That girl tried to kill herself. She comes from a good family and has a privileged life. Frankly, it’s a selfish thing to do. That boy shouldn’t marry her. They need to be warned, this needs to be told.

I am a black hole that engulfs everything it comes in contact with. The world must be spared. God? If I should stay, then let someone find me, if not, please let me have rest from this wretched body and bring rest to everyone else.

A woman sobs and shakes with a cosmic anguish With headphones around her neck, she tries to squeeze the life from her bitter star. Her sister finds her. Both are expected to orbit the same.

Section 10: Enough

That girl is spoiled. She is never satisfied. I think she has ulterior motives. Why else would she try to look like a glorified saint?

My academic papers have been read across the globe, I have worked since I was able to, I have tried to be obedient and do what’s right. Why is it never enough? Why am I never enough?

Somehow, this girl celebrates others’ shards while smashing her own. She is reclaiming the soul she handed over to a warped vengeful God. She is enough. I am enough. We are enough. To be whole with holes, to embody kintsukuroi, to be truly and lastingly free.

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