You used to be so happy. I remember when your smile could practically touch each ear even with some baby teeth missing. It was radiant; it was confident. But as you moved up in the grades, the smile started to die away after someone told you you were ugly. You were pushed into a locker because they felt like it; they started rumors because they found it funny. You started eating tears for meals and stood on a scale so you could measure your happiness in calories. Stitches up your wrists and weakness in your fists as you were tired of fighting the negativity. A laugh is a sound of amusement, but for you, it was a noise to look out for as it could lock you in a chokehold any second. Why were all the teachers blind of the ridicule that wouldn’t subside? You could break your arm, and they would hand you a bandaid. And one teacher told you “Everything is going to be fine.”

It was extraordinary to observe you and your friend; to absorb pleasant words that weren’t laced in pretend. His breath drove you closer to park in his space and I thought your story would end happily ever after. But then the police arrived at your place to see hand prints across your face. You screamed “I love him!” your eyes filled with dismay. You told them you were delirious and that the fight wasn’t serious and in minutes, the police drove away. Blood had dried in the carpet and I couldn’t see you dance with a monster so I said “Love, I think you should leave.” But you loved him so much and he would be home early for lunch, you asked me to go so he wouldn’t grow mad. His fist magnetized to your eye like a bee to a flower and sympathy was a myth. It was difficult to enter the bubble when you were in trouble as he threw your rights in the fire. While my skin was stained with worry, his inebriated tone was sorry and he received your warmth. He traced your reassurance and said “Everything is going to be fine.”

I’ve never been envious of the girls made out of paper. Their skin is fair, but they fold and tear at the hands of a man. The words written on them are tattooed forever. Easily crumbled, easily burned, easily recyclable. My words became alphabet soup when I saw your face, sketched on paper so crass. The headline above your head like a bow read “Woman Beaten To Death.” I fell into pieces as a baseball came through and shattered my glass heart. The man of my dreams walked into a crime scene and found me deranged and distraught. I showed him the paper, he paused for a minute, and swept me into your arms. You smiled into my neck and said “Everything is going to be fine.”