Pretty

Pretty.

A word so sharp so deadly that it can take lives.

Am I pretty enough?

Just a few more pounds and finally I’ll be pretty.

But the satisfaction never comes.

I start to go numb as I look in the mirror crying because I’ll never be pretty enough.

Why didn’t this get more likes? It’s because of my fat face.

I plaster on makeup to hide the imperfections.

I analyze every calorie as it devours me.

Pretty.

Society has taught me that my worth lies only in how pretty I am.

But I hear you whisper to me saying how you made me for more.

I wasn’t made to be pretty.

I was made to be pretty amazing. 

Pretty smart.

Pretty talented.

Pretty funny.

Pretty outgoing.

Pretty kind.

Pretty loving

Pretty is the last thing I was made for.

For I was made to cut the noose off of men and women who are being strangled by their own insecurities.

I was made to bring light into the darkest of hearts.

I was made to be a force that cannot be stopped by being told that I’m not pretty enough.

Because I have had enough of slaving away to what society wants me to me.

I have had enough of comparing myself to a flawless picture that doesn’t exist.

I have had enough of trying to be pretty.

For I was made for more than a simple word that lacks sustenance.

pretty.

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