Dear Heart breakers,
I don't sing or dance.
I'm not skinny or sun-kissed,
and my clothes don't come from Abercrombie,
Hollister or Ralph Lauren.
Do you think I'm pretty?
All signs point to NO.
And maybe they never will say yes,
but I couldn't honestly care less if
you miss out on me.
You think that beauty is the smallest pant size.
You think bigger boobs are more important
than bigger hearts.
You think beauty can be found in
the rolling hills of breasts and valleys of dipping hips.
You don't look to the snow white smiles.
You don't bother to explore the vast uncharted territory of my intellect.
No one dares to test the waters
of my bubbly personality
or swim in the uneven depths of my eyes.
You feel my skin on your skin,
but don't feel the pitter-patter of my heartbeat footsteps.
Beauty, to you, only sits on the skin,
only lies in the hollow of my back,
the curve of my legs,
the slope of my neck.
You don't realize that underneath
is a pulse that runs to my heart.
The heart that beats with love,
love wasted on someone who sees me,
but not me.
I want you to hear the words
that flow from the lips you kiss.
I want you to hold the hands that roam.
I want you to tell me
that beauty does not begin to define
what I am.
What my freckles are,
every story-telling crease in my hand,
my fingers, my lips.
Until you look at me like
I have looked at you forever,
until you stop being
so thick-headed, so shallow, so moronic,
don’t waste my time.
As they say, there are plenty of
fish in the sea.
And I bet some of them are
willing to wade into the pools of my individuality.
Sincerely,
The Truly Beautiful Girl
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