I used to think that being beautiful was looking like a Barbie doll.
I wanted blonde hair, perfect teeth, blue eyes, and a perfect body.
It occurred to me that most people don't look like Barbie.
I started thinking, "Where had the idea of this being beautiful come from?" I never saw anyone that looked like this, so where had this all rooted from?
I still haven't figured it out.
What I did figure out was that none of that matters at all. I'm beautiful if I want to be, and not because someone said I am.
YOU ARE READING
A Letter To Someone Who Can't Be Special Anymore
Non-FictionJust some of my daily thoughts, feelings, and activities. You'll notice that I think more than I speak.
