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Say I'm Beautiful
I stare at your back and decide whether to reach out a finger to poke you and finally talk to you again. It's been so long since I heard your laugh or seen your drawings.
I think of the good old days. The days when I chased you and you laughed and turned around to come back and get me. Your friends were my friends, and we were just kids with not a care in the world except fun.
But that has all changed. Now, I am worried that I will be alone forever. Sure I have friends and all, but no really close ones. I don't know them half as well as I should in order to call them my best friends.
High school is tough. I hate it sometimes. Like when attention is drawn to you and people look at you and analyze your differences or how ugly you are. That's me. I'm not gorgeous, or even real pretty. I was born ugly. When I look at the reflection in the mirror, I say, “Whoa. This is not me. This can't be me.” Why did I have to be born as this person? Why couldn't I have been movie star worthy? I may be smart, but people can't see how smart you are. They judge you by your looks. Don't shake your head. Almost everyone, if not every single person on the planet is judgmental. People are so cruel, but can also be fantastic, like you. I hope that when I am older, there will be a way to make me more pretty, so you will finally notice me. I hate myself. Why couldn't I have been born as beautiful and perfect as Diana? She is flawless, with pretty blue eyes and brown hair. She's not too tall but just average height. Every time a boy in our school passes her, they whistle and she ignores them. Why couldn't I have been her?
Instead, I am blond, with blue eyes, and I'm also average height. I know it doesn't sound bad, but when you look at me you know. I have a huge nose, a funny shaped face, and a flat chest. And there are a couple other things I hate about myself. I am such a pushover, with a very low self esteem. Whenever someone wants something from me, I always do it. I don't want them to be mad with me or to dislike me. I don't have many enemies, and I do everything in order to keep it that way. I am afraid and am crying on the inside. It would comfort me if I knew that there was a second life where everyone is exactly the same, but I don't. Besides, how can everyone be the same on the outside if they are still have different personalities? Obviously, some personalities don't mix, and that would cause a problem.
I try to look strong, but every whisper I hear, I always think it's about me. I was bullied as a kid, and I think that it traumatized me. If I can't hear what someone is talking about, I'll always think that they are saying, “Look at her. Isn't she ugly?” or something along those lines.
I have a bunch of old people in my community tell me that I'm very pretty, and I well may be to them, but to myself and most young people, I am ugly.
But you didn't think I was ugly. But that was probably before kids cared what they looked like. Before middle school, I didn't care about how I looked, or at least I don't remember caring. I don't think you did either.
The one thing I know that you did care about was drawing. You loved to draw. All the time, I would look for you and find you armed with a pencil and your sketchbook staring thoughtfully at a bird or some other thing inspiring to you. I thought you had real talent. You tended not to mention it to other people, just show your friends your drawings. Most of them said that art was a waste of time, and that you should play sports like other boys instead. I marveled at your pictures, and even if they were terrible, I would still tell you they were great, because I truly thought they were.
We used to argue over little things, like what was the best food or color. It was a lot of fun, and I would end up laughing because you made up some stupid reason why your opinion was better. Then you'd grin and I'd just agree with you.
Every morning we all used to play childish games that I loved, because I got to play them with you. The other kids said I only hung out with your other friends because of you. But that was only partially true. I loved having real friends, ones that didn't care what I looked like. I was rejected by all the other kids for being a crybaby, but when I cried, you were there to help me recover.
I don't remember too much about elementary school, just your adorable smile and your beautiful green eyes.
I loved your family when you invited me over to your birthday party. They would always say hello to me afterward and I would smile back at them. They knew me as your friend, and it felt good to be known as something associated with you. But then they stopped when we didn't really talk anymore, and they just passed me by silently.
You made me laugh, and later made me cry when you rejected me for Diana. But she doesn't care about you the way I do. She knows how to play boys like a violin, and breaks their hearts. She is just a big flirt that wants a muscular man that will do anything she wants. She leads you on and on and you fall for her, and it makes me angry that you could be so dumb. I remember when we were hanging out at the last dance of our time in the middle school. I was hanging out with my girlfriends, and their boyfriends, laughing with them and dancing occasionally. During sixth grade, we had drifted apart, and I guess that I decided that I needed more female friends. For some reason, our friendship ended that year. But I have always wanted to be your friend again.
Diana came and sat down with us, because she was a friend of my friend's. My heart soared when you came strutting by with your friends and sat down next to me a few minutes later. I think you were more interested in Diana, but still, I was blinded by my feelings for you. I was wondering when I was going to tell you how I felt.
You started complimenting Diana on her pretty eyes and using all these cheesy pick up lines. I wanted to cry, because it made me so sad to see you flirt with her. Your friends joined in, flirting immensely with her. Why, I wanted to cry, why was I born this way and not beautiful? My parents told me that the boys would appreciate me more when I was older, but I would sadly shake my head and tell them no. I was so afraid of being alone.
I have tried to flirt with you, but it doesn't really work because we don't see each other. I'm afraid to tell you how I truly feel; I am afraid of rejection. I am afraid that you will look me over and say, “Ewwww.... No.”
When you broke your arm, I was genuinely concerned and laughed when a friend told me that you had broken it doing stupid dude stuff. You were so hilariously stupid sometimes. It only made me fall harder for you.
Diana flirts with all the boys and they love it. She has only gotten prettier as she has gotten older, and I wish that she wouldn't be so stuck up. She knows she's pretty and likes to play around with the feelings of boys. It makes me so frustrated because she thinks the world revolves around her. And you seem to think so too.
But she doesn't know you like I do. We were friends, and I secretly loved you. I only wish that you would see that I still do. I don't know if you would think that I am acceptable enough for you. But I beg that one day, you will see me for my inner beauty. I know that you aren't as confident and happy as you seem, and that you are depressed like me. Please won't you remember all the good times? We were in pure bliss, just spending time together arguing about life. Maybe you never liked me and never will, but I wish that you would give us a chance.
And now, other people are probably asking, as I'm debating whether or not to talk to you, why don't you just ask him already? Well, here's the thing, I'm too self conscious for rejection. I may be ugly, or maybe not, but nothing would matter to me except what you said. If you said no, I would be crushed and tumble into an oblivion of solitude and depression. If you said yes, and that I was pretty, then I would be elated and burst like a firework. So please, say I'm beautiful.