In a world where I am Christen Kuikoua,
Yet each day, I question if it's truly me.
I can act, sing, and model with passion,
But my dreams face a relentless decree.

Every aspiration met with a crushing sound,
As though someone's there to pull me down.
It's a daily struggle, a living hell,
Where critiques and judgments persist and swell.

Like You sing Like a Toad they proclaim,
Or like Your Face Looks Like a Baboon, the shame.
"You're too fat to be a model," they sneer,
Injecting poison, stoking my fear.

I long to break free from this binding chain,
To live without worry, without disdain.
Why must every word and comment sting?
Is it my race that causes such a fling?

Proud of the black hue, I didn't choose,
But why does the world harbor so much abuse?
Can't we exist without constant dread,
Without fearing the moment we leave our bed?

As a young teen, insults weigh heavy,
Trying to navigate a world that's unsteady.
Yearning to find my place and voice,
Yet hatred makes it an unbearable choice.

What can I do, what can I say,
To be heard, supported, to find my own way?
Why does it feel like I don't deserve life?
Am I not human, deserving of strife?

The pain cuts deep, like a sword to the chest,
Critics abound, making me second-guess.
Creating my own content, using my own art,
Yet accusations fly, tearing me apart.

Too young for social media, they claim,
Or a cyberstalker turns my life into a game.
Fake police threats and accusations unfair,
No one believes, and it feels like a snare.

Broken and shattered, lost in the debris,
Yearning to vanish, to find some decree.
Can someone lend a helping hand,
Guide me through this desolate land?