They said I was beautiful
that my eyes shined like emeralds
that my hair looked like night
that my skin held life
and then they stopped
they saw my dull eyes
they saw my torn hair
they saw my scarred arms
I guess they finally saw me
I stood in front of them
my arms barred
my eyes clear
my hair swept back
and they said ugly
I shrugged
and whispered
I guess so
I used to cut because they called me beautiful
used to wear a mask of paint
used to smile with a false face
then I stopped
because my beauty never changed
under all of those layers of doubt
and despair
and pain
so I just washed off the layers
and let them see me
I let them see that I wasn't fake anymore
but still
I was beautiful
in a way that they could never be
and I whispered to them
ugly
YOU ARE READING
Based
Short StoryEvery picture tells a story, And every story paints a picture, So why can I not use a picture to tell a story? I do not own any of these pictures. All works in this book are fiction. (Please let me know if you would like me to tag anyt...
