Born

red flowersI was born with ten fingers and ten toes and a stubbornness that will never die.

I was born with a tiny beige birthmark on my leg that I hated immensely until I learned to love myself.

I was born with a name that people struggle to make catchy nicknames out of.

I was born with expectations that I’d go to college, get married, achieve success–whatever that is.

I was born. The rest is up to me.


Welcome to Microvember, my take on NaBloPoMo. Each day this month I’ll be posting microfiction, short vignettes, or poetry, accompanied by photography. See more Microvember posts here

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