I tell myself to be confident, to accept and love who I am and how I look, that even if I’m not beautiful by anyone else’s standards, I can be by mine.
But some days, when I look in the mirror, I feel so, so ugly, the blemishes on my skin like flashing neon signs against a plain background. I feel too ashamed to step out of the house to let the public see me, judge me, use me to make themselves feel better.
As much as I like to believe no one is going to bother looking at me for more than two seconds, what if, what if they do?
“jesus she should have put on make-up”
“thank goodness I wasn’t born with that kind of skin”
“is she allergic to something in the air”
Noise in other people’s heads. Noise in my own head.
Why do I look this way? “Ugly.” I don’t want to look this way.
But it’s okay to look this way.
Why do I think this way? “I’m ugly.” I don’t want to think this way.
And it’s okay to think this way.
Because I’ll think another way another day. Tomorrow I’ll be beautiful.