You tell me, “I'm deeply sorry to say you're not beautiful.”
Pretty women wear their hair down. Pretty women have thigh gaps. Pretty women have flawless skin. Pretty women wear dresses and skirts. Pretty women wear contacts, not glasses. Pretty women don't look like you.
You tell me, “just make yourself prettier.”
So I do.
I make myself look exactly the way you want me to. I straighten my hair, wear ladylike shoes, and paint my nails.
You tell me I look the best I ever have. You think my strained smiles and lack of eye contact is just me getting comfortable with finally being pretty.
They say beauty is pain and they're right. There is pain in the painted nails, polished heels, and straightened hair. There is pain in trying to change myself to fit your ideas of beauty. There is pain in changing my beliefs to fit yours.
If beauty is pain and pain is gain, why do I feel so empty? Why does it feel like my soul is being chipped away, little by little, until I'm nothing but a hollow vessel, ready to be filled with your hate?
Why are there women all over the world starving themselves so they can have a thigh gap? Why are there girls dying from purging themselves to the point that they can't make it through the day without doing it? Why are there girls going under the knife so they can finally get the “perfect” nose? Why are we doing these degrading things, all for you, the ones that feast on our souls and swallow our confidence? Why do we have to change ourselves for you? Why can't you just accept us? Why can't you embrace my scars, my glasses, my messy hair, and my so-called flaws, which I think are simply beautiful quirks that make me special? Why do you have to force your opinions on me and make me feel like I'm not beautiful?
I am beautiful and I love myself just the way I am. How on earth could that not be enough for you?
So please, kindly shut up and let me live my life the way I want to.
After all, who are you to judge how I should look?