The markings on my face are getting bigger, the white marks turning up in places they weren't in before. I always told my mom that it was ok, that I was and would be more than ok. But my reaction disturbs me, disconcerts me. That with each faint outline that indicates a new patch of fairness that I do not want, a nervous tick tick tick turns on inside me.
I told myself I would take it in my stride, that I would not be ashamed, that I would not hide something that I couldn't hide because the spot's been decided and it is laid out for the world to see. More importantly, is there a point in fretting over something that did not come to me by my own fault? That is the way my cells collided, the way my body turned out to be and if you ask me "why?", I can only simply reply, "it just is". Maybe I was prepared for this, but I wasn't prepared for more. Would you let these marks define your mark in the world?
I always knew my mom was stronger than me.
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