Not Your Average Unicorn

I'm not really your average unicorn.  Actually, most of the time I'm just a kid. But I don't like being a kid.  Because of...other kids.  They call me names.  Not to my face, but I hear their gravelly whispers.  What a fattie.  What a loser.  What a bitch.  I don't know what a bitch is, but I know it's not good when you're called one.

When it gets to be too much--ugly stupid fat dirty idiot whore nobody--I become my true self, which is a unicorn.

When I'm a unicorn, I'm colors and I'm cotton candy and I'm cool summer breezes and I'm that hug between you and your favorite person and I'm the dream you had that you wish was real.

When I'm a unicorn, I'm golden like innocence and radiant like the sun hitting the ocean--a thousand sparkles kissing your eyes closed but they open again because they are mesmerized, in love.

When I'm a unicorn, I'm alone but I'm not lonely--bougainvilleas sing to me and willow trees whisper my favorite poem and dandelions wait for me to set their children free and shells dance on shore, flashing their shapes and hues as if to say, 'Pick me!  Pick me!'

When I'm a unicorn, I'm no one's joke, no one's loser, no one's outcast.  I'm not the kid you let sit with you at lunch but you don't even look at, I'm not the kid you pass in the hallway and whisper, 'Gay', to.  I'm not the kid you look down on and think poorly of, I'm not the kid you think you are better than.

When I'm a unicorn, I can't be touched.

Because unicorns only live when you've decided to let go.

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