Perfect imperfections. Such a painful oxymoron. A beautiful lie. (Which is also an oxymoron)
How do you learn to love yourself when all you've ever known is hate?
Not the "I want to kill myself" or "I wish I never existed" kind of hate, but the "I really wish I looked _______" type of hate.
Self confidence is something that's built over time.
Rome wasn't built in a day. I think that's supposed to be encouraging. It's supposed to be a reminder that beauty takes time.
It's supposed to reassure me that in time I'll see my beauty. Maybe even love myself.
Right now that seems crazy.
My stomach jiggles.
My thighs slightly resemble cottage cheese.
I am lined with tiger stripes to constantly remind me that I have never been in control of my weight.
My face breaks out.
My smile is kind of crooked.
I don't have anything that is "firm" or "hot" or "sexy".
Why should I want to be those things?
I should love me for me. I should love all of my "perfect imperfections."
Yet I don't.
I guess there are things that are "beautiful" about me.
But I don't see them.
I am blinded by what I'm not.
I am blinded by the fact I have never taken someone's breath away to the point where they want to say "God damn. The new girl."
Or "*insert beautiful defining feature here* Olivia"
Or "Petite man...very petite."
Things I long to be.
Feel.
I want to be the reason someone does a double take.
I don't want to be looked at like a piece of meat. Because I'm not.
I just want to be wanted.
I thought I was.
But now that's gone.
All of my self confidence destroyed with a few clicks of some little fingers.
My Rome wasn't built in a day, but it sure was destroyed in one.
My heart is so big. And that, by far, is my biggest downfall.
xoxo, Liv
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