To the man that told me, "Hey, at least you are pretty enough for a guy to think about having sex with you, even if you didn't want to"
First off I would like to know how do you define pretty.
Cause I'm pretty sure that pretty doesn't mean how accessible you may think my vagina is, or how good your perverted mind thinks it would feel.
When someone is pretty in your eyes, are they really asking for it or are you drooling from your mouth just thinking about how your tongue will feel up against my lips, against my body.
Does being pretty mean that in whatever outfit I will put on I will look as though I'm in need of someone to insert their genitalia into my sacred bosom?
Does being pretty really equate to the number of drinks that sick minded men buy for me?
Is being pretty the amount of guys I've kissed or slept with?
Why is Being pretty make you have the same flamey eyes as a robber has flamey eyes when he drives past the bank?
Banks don't deserve to be robbed but they get robbed anyway.
If being pretty were to mean how magnetic your cock is to my body then pretty would mean to take.
Being pretty would be to pick the rose growing inside of me away from its roots to only keep it in your vase for only a few days before it dies.
Being pretty would mean to work so hard to cover up all the imperfections on my face just so you could tie me down against my will and cover my flaws with your bodily fluids.
I am not pretty because I am easy to tear down, but I'm pretty because I am strong and sturdy to my ground.
I am pretty because I am in love with what I've been given. I'm pretty because I don't need anyone to tell me so, I was just too blind to see that.
When I look in the mirror I see beauty in what I grow into, but if i grow only to be plucked out of the ground again what is the point?
If being pretty was to be banged then I don't want to be pretty.
I want to be beautiful.
I want to be the reason why a man is in tears when I walk down the aisle to join our souls together.
I want to be able to harvest a garden inside me where I can give the person I grow old with something beautiful but something that lasts forever.
So why do you come around and think that spraying my garden with pesticide mean that I'm pretty?
That's cause I'm not pretty, I am beautiful.
No matter what happens to me.
I am beautiful.
