She is so beautiful. But she’s not me.
Her confidence is otherworldly amazing. But she’s not me.
She’s smart, genius and a true book lover. Everyone likes her. But she’s not me.
When she walks on the street, almost all eyes are on her. But she’s not me.
She brings positive vibe upon everybody who is in touch with her. But she’s not me.
She is everything but me.
I can see someone else’s potential but I fail to notice mine. When I saw someone’s walking down the streets, I wished that was me. When I saw someone smiled gracefully, I wished that smile was mine. When I liked someone, I wished I liked myself.
There is always a feeling of dissatisfaction about myself. I can never truly accept who am I and why can’t I be like others. Whether I am too fat, having too much dark spots than others, a little bit tanned than the girl I like, my clothes are all worn out, my shoes are outdated, my makeup is always not on fleek, my bags are not matching with my outfit, my skin complexion is not good, too oily, too much freckles, my lips aren’t good, that nude shade won’t fit me, an ‘A’ cut dress is a bit much, palazo is not meant for me, my height is good but my legs are too thick, and my fat are not well distributed all over my body (bad proportions, butt too big, muffin waist and thick thigh).
You can see clearly the way I dislike myself.
I don’t like the way I walk; how I look when I walk, when I am talking my lips are making such weird ‘gesture’; more like pouting the lips which I hate. I don’t prefer my voice. I hate the way I look from the back, from the side and certainly from the front. I hate all angles that make my chin double.
You can say I hate my well being.
Up to one point, I don’t believe someone can fall in love with me. If I am to befriend some girls’ boyfriends, they should not worry of the fact that I will steal their boyfriends because it is impossible for someone to fall in love with me. I am good as a friend and not more. That’s what I believe.
As I wish for other’s smile, I don’t wish for their cry. As I wish for someone’s thin and slender figure, I don’t wish for their eating disorder problem. As I wish for someone’s likeable character, I don’t wish for their craziness and struggles.
As much as I wish to be someone, I don’t wish to own their stories.
But what can I say to myself? Get that shit done and be yourself? My mind and my soul endlessly crave to be someone they think is perfect. And for constant external validation upon myself, they need me to be that someone. And to be someone, you’ll need to hate yourself.
Damages are done.