In the pursuit of ugliness





    In the pursuit of  ugliness  school stories
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cuculater
cuculater My not-so- secret pastime :)
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
Pretty, some say I am. They are likely lying. What has "prettiness" got me? Except bruises on my thighs, fondlers, and stalkers.

In the pursuit of ugliness

Pretty, some say I am. They are likely lying. What has "prettiness" got me? * Except bruises on my thighs, fondlers, and stalkers *

In high school, it is easy to be in the "pretty-girl" group. A simple smile, soft hair, fancy clothes, and over-matured breasts, certainly helped.

Yet, I recoiled every time you called me pretty. I recoiled every time, you told me , "you don't need to study, you will marry someone rich". I recoiled every time you praised me, for attributes I did not create.

I am an actress in my own life. See, I pretended to be pretty. But, I am NOT. I pretended to love you, but I did not.

I pretended to laugh, when your stupidity was offensive.

I laughed and laughed, until your stupidity reincarnated inside a body that resembled MINE. By association, I was dumb. Notice me. Hear me.

My attention deficit, makes it hard to listen in class. But, when I listen, I understand. When, I read, I absorb.

I was always attracted to the bullied, jealous, maybe. Often, a voyeur. At times, an intervener. How I wished the bruises were mine.

How I wish, it was I who was bullied.

My head dunked in a toilet. Bruises, on my cheeks. Gum in my hair. Hair, my mom diligently prepared.

Bullying, I have not experienced. I do not deserve to be center-stage, given my stage -fright. Give it to her, who straightens her hair every day. Not to me, who showers and leaves.

Give it to her, her hair braided in two. She skipped two-grades. She is much smarter than you. She is much smarter than me.

Why don't you invite her out? Don't you see her smiling at you?

Take her, not I. She is pretty, I am NOT.

My hair, clothes, and family name may be pretty. But , I am not.

I am an OUTCAST, stuck in a prism of pretentiousness.

For, even when I am secluded, you follow me.

Even when I work on my thesis, you creep up on me. In the form, of advances by "colleagues or superiors".

Once again, universities reinforce the cycle of "pretty". A little more subdued, but painted by the same invisible strokes of privilege. The repellent screaming, do not approach, unless, I choose you. Well, do not choose me.

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