She hated herself from the moment she could understand that it was herself in the mirror.
She believed a woman when she yelled those horrible names, soaked in depression and Bacardi.
She took on the responsibility of being a best friend to the woman that hurt her most because it was the "better" thing to do.
She was alone because it was the easier thing to do.
She couldn't gather the courage to wear anything tighter than an oversized sweatshirt until the sixth grade.
She didn't start wearing shorts until almost the eighth grade because the stretch marks on her legs were a sign of obesity.
She lost weight in a matter of a year
And suddenly,
Things were so different, but so much the same.

Words shifted from "you're fat" to "you're too skinny."
From "eat less" to "eat more, twig."
The pain of hatred towards her body changed,
But never
Ever
Got easier.
And the worst part was,
There wasn't anything she could do about it.
She inherited her father's high metabolism
And though she ate,
There was never any addition of weight.
She started to weightlift freshman year in hopes of a bigger body,
Maybe not all for herself,
But to stop people from forcing names into her ears,
So she could finally be happy.
It took another year for her to realize that it wasn't her body that needed to change,
It was her mind.

And so,
Instead of standing in front of the mirror to stare at the unpleasant features she held,
She stood tall and complimented herself on all of the great things,
Whether physical or otherwise.
And suddenly,
Things were so different, but so much the same.

The shorts she took ten years to gather the courage to wear
Earned her names such as "slut" and "whore."
Her success in earning confidence was despised by those who were ignorant enough to say so.
Her fight for acceptance from herself
Was suddenly
Not quite
So relevant.

And so she hid again,
Back in the comfort of oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants,
With the fear of being called names
By people who didn't have the right to say them.
All because they couldn't understand
That showing skin was more a display of an award won after years of pain
And less about attention.

That she is me,
And I stand for the women put down every day because of judgement on how they dress
and not on their personalities. 
The women that have battled with self-hatred for far too long and when they finally win,
They're put right back into the same place by a society that refuses to understand.
A society that flaunts the bodies of women as if they are an easily won prize,
but discourages confidence in the people who need it most. 
Bare skin is on every page of every magazine,
but it shall never walk the hallways of a school filled with people that have already been told their worth
And this worth we are allowed
will never be the truth. 
So we protest until our muscles are too weak and our voices have vanished,
but we are never heard. 
Because the opinions of the youth are not the "correct" opinions. 
We are all judged more on how we dress or the grades we can dedicate ourselves to
and less on us as we truly are…

So to you,
I may be a number or a word,
But to me,
I am
A warrior.