Beneath the surface I am a murder.

A murder who killed the little girl I used to be.

That little girl was a bundle of joy.

Her face was always bright and cheerful.

It was as if the sun fueled her energy.

That little girl used to never care what she wore out in public.

That little girl was very talkative.

That little girl had many friends surrounding her.

That little girl who never cared what people thought about her.

That little girl would walk home from school everyday, stepping inside and walking past the mirror hanging in the hall.

She’d look at herself with a smile on her face before saying, “That’s me!”

A smile spreads across her face.

She’s dead.

She’s buried.

She’s gone.

She’s grown older, started keeping to herself.

Her eyes were tired and she left no room for happiness.

She always cares what she wears out.

She never talks to anyone, only stays in her room and avoids everything around her.

She didn’t have many friends.

She’s always paranoid about what others think about her.

She would walk home from school everyday, stepping inside and walking past the mirror hanging in the hall, “That’s me…”

A frown spreads across her face.

I am a murder.

I killed the little kill I used to be.