I need to rethink the way I define beauty. Too much of the time, I let my beauty be defined by numbers. Sometimes beauty means weighing twenty pounds less.
Sometimes beauty means a 3.5 GPA or higher. Sometimes I equate beauty with how many people I’ve slept with, which means that I’m not beautiful at all because ...
... I’ve slept with far too many people for a sixteen year old. Sometimes I equate beauty with how many things I checked off my to do list today.
Sometimes being beautiful is the same thing as my bra size and sometimes being beautiful is equal to how many coats of mascara I’m wearing. Sometimes I can’t see the difference between beauty ...
... and how many different makeup products are on my face. Sometimes I can’t differentiate between beauty and how much money I spent on this shirt, these shoes, that jacket.
Sometimes being ugly is the same thing as how many cigarettes I’ve smoked in my life (too many), this year (too many), this month (too many), today (not enough).
It’s hard for me to understand that when I start a conversation with someone I haven’t talked to in years, they won’t miss me the way I miss them and that doesn’t reflect on my worth.
That doesn’t reflect on my worth.
My grades in school are not indistinguishable from my intelligence; grades are just a shitty way to measure it.
I need to stop thinking that the number of insults I’ve received in my life is the same number as how many people wish I was dead.
I need to remember that the number of people who never talked to me again after I had the last word is not the number of people who hate me.
It’s hard but I need to keep fresh in my memory the idea that beauty is immeasurable particularly by numbers and I can’t expect to find the answer to the question “am I pretty?” in a calculator.
Having sex does not mean I am damaged goods or sloppy seconds.
Having sex does not mean you are damaged goods or sloppy seconds.
You are not damaged goods or sloppy seconds.
Your beauty is not a number.
My beauty is not a number.