someone else

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It's not that I don't know that I'm pretty, because I know I'm pretty. It's more complex than that.
I'm pretty, I've accepted that, but I'm a certain kind of pretty.
I'm curvy, but I'm short. I'm tan, but I don't glow. I have delicate features, but no smooth skin or freckles. My hair is curly and wild, but it doesn't fall over my shoulders oh so beautifully like it does for other girls.
I'm a certain kind of pretty, but I wish I was the elegant kind.
I wish I was tall, with a long neck and straight hair. I wish I could pull off hoop earrings, and wear chunky heels.
I wish I had freckles—I wish I had so many that a boy could draw constellations between them with a ballpoint pen.
I wish I had soft, full lips and glowing skin.
I wish I had long fingers to play the piano and pluck ukulele strings.
I wish I was someone else.

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