Killing Myself To Be Pretty

I’ve never been the pretty girl and the world would always remind me.
As a young girl I learned that no one liked ugly.
I’d stare into mirrors and ponder why God would do such a thing.
Picked on by the boys in class.
Treated like the outcast at home.
Ugly duckling.
Black sheep.
I grew into a woman constantly wanting to feel pretty.
Self conscience of everything about me.
Pulling, tugging, and sucking it in.
When my hips expanded the world was sure to point it out.
When I didn’t wear makeup the world turned up its nose in disgust.
Skip a meal or two or three.
Create homemade mask that could burn away the ugly.
When my waist started to shrink and my skin began to clear the world struggled to find the words of praise as if the words would burn their lips.
Backhanded compliments of “You’d look better if….” and “You look nice, but…” were the norm.
Genuine words of encouragement were far and few in between.
Still I felt unpretty.
Still I stood in the mirror asking “Why?”
Why can’t I be beautiful?
Why was I raised believing that being pretty was necessary?
Why can’t I be loved for simply being me?
People appear out of nowhere with compliments.
Some social media notification of a stranger calling me “beautiful” catches me off guard.
My beauty is now measured in likes and views, but these people don’t like me.
They like the girl with the bright smile, painted mask, and clever filter that appears in a newsfeed.
That girl is pretty, but she is not me.
I have never been pretty.
Many made sure to tell me that from the moment I could create memories.
That little girl who’s always felt ugly and out of place will forever be a part of me.
All I’ve ever wanted was to feel pretty but whether I wanted it for myself or others is unclear.
I’ve never been the pretty girl.
That is a girl I’ll never see through my eyes.

-Asia Aneka Anderson
Tumblr: AsiaWrites

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