To the boy…

To the boy who made a point of telling me I’m not drop dead gorgeous…

Maybe it’s because I wear glasses, but eyes like mine, that have seen some shit and still choose to see the good, are beautiful.

Maybe it’s because my arms are a little flabby, but they are always open to hug, embrace and accept a friend in need.

Maybe it’s my slightly lopsided breasts, that had a cancer scare a few years ago…

Maybe it’s my teeth, stained from years of drinking coffee, to assist me in working 2 or 3 jobs.

Maybe it’s the grey in my hair, well earned in my lifetime.

Maybe it’s the thickness of my thighs, which left plenty of room for the mantra tattooed there.

To the boy who made a point of telling me I’m not drop dead gorgeous, I don’t need your validation. I’m not a super model but I am a God damn super hero, and you can’t take my strength, or inner beauty away from me.

To the boy who made a point of telling me I’m not drop dead gorgeous, fuck off.

3 thoughts on “To the boy…

  1. With fiery red hair and those stunning eyes, how does anyone not put you in the drop dead gorgeous category? I’ve found that people who don’t love themselves are the quickest to judge others on shallow things like appearance.

    Liked by 1 person

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