When I was younger I thought my face was like a wrong pencil mark someone should try to erase. And people would tell me don't be sad you're beautiful brown. But it's kinda hard to believe when you feel like you're gonna down, in your thoughts telling you that being beautiful. You can't. And those thoughts make you feel as small as an ant. And all those thoughts screaming so loud in my head, and little 2nd grade me said nothing and went to bed. And cried and cried if she had one wish it would be for her skin dyed. A little lighter that would be all, she said as her self confidence started to fall. Mommy,I don't want to be this way, I want to be pretty she would say. I want to be pretty and white like my friends, and it felt like this self torture was never going to end. Like a dark monster that only you can see, that keeps calling you names but then you realize... oh that's me. Or like a terrifying void with no way out, but it's way too scared to tell anyone about. I will look in the mirror and say you're different and that's wrong, maybe that's why you don't belong. After a while I realized the only one that could help me was myself, and I can't just leave my happiness forgotten on the shelf. I started working and working and I didn't need a prize,because after that my self-confidence started to rise.I felt better day after day, and the walls I built around myself started to fade. And the thing is that no one noticed because I left that part hidden, locked away, for bidden. But it meant everything to me, like my chains were unlocked finally I was free. And since then I realized a couple things, thing one and thing two. You don't have to be pretty like her, you can be pretty like you.