Sometimes I wonder if love is real.

If I will ever find love. 

True love.

If one day I’ll wake up with a loving man at my side who tells me I’m special. 

That he loves me for me.

My weirdness, my imperfections….

I am weird...

Yes, I’m weird.

I’m not gorgeous. 

I’m no model.

I’m not 90lbs with gorgeous blonde hair done to her skinny hips.

I have a weird lisp.

My voice is loud, annoying, squeaky and had to understand.

My hands are crusty and I have crooked nails.

I have freckles that spread throughout my entire body.

I have black bags under my eyes like a disgusting racoon.

I’m pigeon-toed.

My feet stomp in-front of me, left , right, left, right, until eventually I trip over my own feet.

I’m not perfect. 

I’m not happy.

Salty tears roll down my face at least five times a day.

Words from my inner self replay over and over.

“ You’re not good enough”

“Why can’t you look like her, or her, or that girl over there.”

“Why aren’t we as pretty as her.”

“Or as skinny as her”

Why can’t I ever get someone to chase after me like they chase after all these girls surrounding me.

Am I not good enough? 

Too ugly, too fat?

All I ever wanted is for someone to love me.

Someone to look me in the eyes, and say I love you for you and that’s never going to change. 

I want to feel comfortable with someone.

Dance, sing, snort with them like they’re my best friend.

My other half.

All I ever wanted is for someone to love me.

For my squeaky voice, freckled body, racoon eyes.

I just want to be loved.

L-o-v-e-d.

Is that too much to ask for?

Loved...

Loved by myself…. my friends ...family…

The world.