The Little Girl

Sometimes I cry for that little girl. The one who was so optimistic, so full of joy and love. The one who didn't think that her looks, or the colour of her skin mattered. The little girl with the glasses, the braces, the horrible hair and the thirst for something more. The girl who knew exactly who she was, and who was proud of it.

She's disappeared, that little girl. In her place, there's a woman who's confused, lost and angry. A woman who is slowly losing sense of who she is. Of WHAT she is.

I miss that girl. I wish I could find her again. Maybe then, life wouldn't be so empty, and the woman could be happy.