I was scared because everyone told me that,
Once I got my period and hit puberty,
A lot of things were going to change:
I wouldn’t be able to wear shorts anymore or ride bikes,
Or play with boys on the street.
gender identity, body image, womanhood, period

I just stood in my place, nailed to the floor.
My mom started telling me, "Dance, don't be as stiff as wood!"

“Do you have good or bad hair?”
I get this question all the time from everyone around me.
But I’ve never mustered up the courage to reply.
So I tell them: “Yeah, my hair isn’t straight.”
Despite my family’s efforts to convince me that I had nice hair as a baby,
All of the kids at school were skilled in the art of bullying.
body image, hair, beauty standards, bullying

I’m tired of my parents.
I don’t know why some people feel bad for orphans.
Maybe their lives are much better without parents.
I don’t want my parents.
They don’t do anything for me.
I don’t spend time with them.

I was an active child when I was young.
I did gymnastics and never skipped a lesson.
However, I wasn't blessed when puberty hit me,
As I gained an enormous amount of weight.
body image, social stigma, social pressure, bullying

When I was little,
I didn’t like my face,
Because I had a big nose.
You laughed, didn’t you?
That’s understandable.
But it really hurts.
Your comments about the way I look kill me,
And believe me,
I’ll never show that I’m upset.
On the contrary,
I might even joke about my appearance along with you.

I thought I did something wrong.
I did something wrong because I’m pretty.
He followed me and did what he did because I’m pretty.

During an awards ceremony at school, the principal refused to shake hands with me. 
Even though she greeted and congratulated all the others. 
“What’s wrong with your hair?” she said.
“I wish you’d brush your hair for once,” she used to tell me whenever she’d see me. 
body image, hair, beauty standards, bullying

My parents are Nubian.
I was born olive-skinned,
Like most Egyptians.
My brother, however,
Who’s a year and a half older than me,
Was darker-skinned,
Like most Nubians.
That’s not the only problem:
My brother has a disability:
A chronic ulcer on the sole of his foot.

I don’t care, though.
I love myself the way I am,
But a lot of other girls unfortunately do care.
They end up resorting to extreme measures to make their breasts socially acceptable,
Even though it’s nobody’s business how large one’s chest is.
Some cultures consider small breasts to be beautiful.
But of course, people here refuse to accept anyone different.
They insist on bullying them!