I don’t want to be called pretty, don’t want to be thought of as pretty, don’t want to be pretty.
I’ve wasted so many years of my life trying to be pretty, skinny, girly, cutely, and another box of labels i tried to fit onto my ragged skin to no avail

Don’t call me pretty. Don’t call me cute.
I’m not.

I’m smart. I’m thoughtful. I’m kind. I’ve got softness hidden in the bottom of my heart and I’m proud it stuck with me for this long.

I’ve got tired happy eyes and a round nose and hair unruly, soft curves and thick thighs.

I’ve got scars that show I’m more than skin and bones, scars to prove I’m a survivor, a warrior. Scars to prove I’ve never given up.

I’m not pretty. I never will be.
And you know what?
I’ve never been more content than the moment i realised

i am enough.
without your labels, without your compliments, without your back-handed insults or catcalls.

i am enough.