Pretty

A poem about my insecurities.

I guess I just can’t be pretty.

Not by today’s standards.

I’m too brunette.

Too short.

Too fat.

Too flat-chested.

Too not-perfect to ever be pretty.

I was always told that I’m a lovely girl.

“You’re among the prettier of your friends,” Mom would say.

Everyone says that my eyes are beautiful.

But they lie.

I’m not pretty.

Ask anyone at school who doesn’t know me.

At first glance, they’d say I’m not even cute.

And they’re right.

I’m just… not pretty.

And I never will be.

My looks don’t match my personality.

I stick out, no matter how much I try to blend in.

No matter how much I try to go unnoticed.

It’s no use.

I’m easy to spot.

Of course I am.

I’m not pretty.

Never have been.

Never will be.

I guess I just can’t be pretty.