whats on my bag

You don't know how many times i pulled my hair off 

how many strands fell off as i try to brush away every little word.

You don't know how many shattering hearts i have endured

and cries by myself under that blanket when all slumbers.

You don't know what i carry everyday when i wake up at 5:00 

and urge myself to escape.

The books in my shelves that keep me company are invisible to you 

or the pages and papers i have crumpled and torn. 

Still hidden from your eyes are all the ink i have wasted.

You don't know how many lumps on my throat have i choked on,

just to prevent vulnerabilities to show off.

i am done pretending to be that perfect little girl,

with dangling necklace of medals, 

with approval equates happiness, 

and slightest mistakes make her shake.

I'm done pretending to be a covered mouth in an empty museum 

and quiet footsteps on a wet floor,

I choose courage today, 

so stop pretending that you taught me any of that. 

You don't even know the color of my shirt, 

how high i have grown, 

how many times have i sprained my ankle, 

or all the droplets of rain that kissed my head. 

You don't even know my name anymore,

it's not what you write on the tag i am ordered to put just above my right chest.

Don't pretend that you ask because even if you do 

i already left the room before the introduction started.

It's not the first day of school 

and i don't bring my bag anymore