Imperfection What is perfect to me?
I always thought that being a perfect person was to one, just be skinny. That was the main point, to be skinny. Everyone loves skinny girls, right? No one loves fat, but apparently that’s all I have. That’s my blanket around my bones.
I look at my reflection every single day and just examined myself, and my flaws. I stare at how my hips are wide and how fat covers every inch, also on how my shoulders are wide and broad. I look at my small breast and my fat thighs. I look at my scars that are painted across my arms and thighs.
When I do look at myself in the mirror and I wonder,”Why do I have to be me?” Sometimes I just walk past girls and I envy them for being so beautiful so perfect. I wish I could be like them, I love how much confidence they have as they walk or how beautiful they look at all times. Everyone looks so beautiful in my eyes, but when I look in the mirror I cry.
Today I cried, I cried for being so ugly! For being so imperfect I hate being myself. I hate waking up to another day of torture. I hate going to school and I hate all the people there. It’s so hard to on how everyone has someone. Then there’s me the girl who is never going to be good enough for anyone. She’s just too ugly for my own good.
Im just the girl that everyone hates.
But don’t worry I hate myself too.