Age 5, I have no filter
Constantly speaking my mind
Filling the world with my silly, sassy comments
Laughing when someone pretended to be offended,
And apologising when told to.
Age 12, there’s now filters online
Taking snaps with a flower crown adorning my head,
Masking the spots beginning to form on my face,
Messing around with the silly animal noses,
And posting them online.
Age 16, I hide behind a filter
In public, online, no-one ever sees the real me,
Masking my depression with heavy eye makeup and a washed-up smile,
Still posing for pictures like old times,
And still continuously posting online.
Age 17, I remain behind filters,
There’s a lot of layers to my person now,
And many diagnoses,
So I remain concealed; concealed by the protection of keeping to myself,
And so no-one sees what I see.
The true, broken, me.