You are beautiful.
And I don't mean 'beautiful' as in the pictures of models, celebrities or that person who seems to radiate beauty in all their Instagram pictures. I don't mean 'beautiful' as in eyebrows or a waistline or a bra size. I don't mean 'beautiful' as in the number of boys' numbers you can get just by walking down the street.
Your Beautiful is not defined by how many likes you get on your latest post. It is not defined by comparisons between you and who you wish you could look like. It is not defined by the careless comment made by a boy who doesn't know what it means to be a man yet.
Your Beautiful is you.
You are a person. You are a person made of the same flesh and blood as the depressed girl who sits in the corner and the homosexual guy who can't seem to make any friends. You are a person with with a heart just like everybody else around you; a heart that has been loved, broken, given away, cherished and torn. The memories, thoughts, wishes, dreams and hopes that flow through your veins define you and make you visible. The emotions ripping you apart daily that are invisible to everybody else prove that you are human. A person.
You are a mess.
But so are the constellations. 💫
