She was 10 and she was tall and she knew it. Her long thin braids hung to her waist and as she twirled for her father in the late evenings she felt as tall as the mountains.
Little Girl was the sun stooping to kiss the earth; she was the migrating goose always seeking warmth; she was the moon commanding the tidal waves.
On a cloudy day in late April Little Girl turned 12. Slowly she realized how very tall she was.
“I am tall,” she said to herself in the mirror and thumped herself on the head, consciously reminding herself that she was quite tall enough, thank you, you may stop growing now.
She twirled for her father in the late evenings and she felt as tall as the capitol building just down the street.
Little Girl turned 16 on a rainy day in late April. Quickly, she realized how much taller she was than her classmates.
“They think I am too tall,” she said to herself in the mirror and hid the pair of ruby red high heels her mother had purchased for her.
When she twirled for her father in the late evenings she shrugged her shoulders so she wouldn’t be as tall as him.
Little Girl turned 18 on a snowy day in late April. Suddenly, she realized how hated she was because of her height.
“They hate me because I am too tall,” she said to herself in the mirror and sunk lower. She was a giant in the Shire. The unwanted skyscraper in a peaceful village.
She couldn’t bear to twirl for her father in the late evenings, it broke her heart to look down at him from her cascading height.
Little Girl turned 20 on a clear day in late April. Slowly, she realized that she hated herself because she thought they hated her.
“I am not who I think I am,” she said to herself in the mirror and patted herself on the head.
“I am not who they think I am,” she said to herself and pulled out the ruby red high heels.
“I am who I think they think I am,” she said and stood up straighter. “I am but a perception of a perception.”
Her father worked a double shift that evening, so she twirled for herself instead.
Peace and Blessings,