You tell me I'm beautiful and I don't believe it. The last person that told that to me made me believe that for once I was worth something; that I was someone's sweet rose with thorns disappearing. It was a mistake to let my guard down and think how beautiful I could be when every word was a lie and in the end, I was bitter and created into a **** wanting to be pulled out of this wretched grown and tossed into a bin full of lost words and other weeds like me.  

But when you told me, I believed it because I thought you would never lie; you were kind and innocent and I believed everything you said. I grew the confidence of an angel and the glow of the sun. The next thing I knew, my halo was broken and my star faded into nothingness.

You told me they were prettier with their curves as smooth as froth on the beach and their skin as radiant as the northern lights. I'll admit too I was mesmerized, but I started to treat myself like a deserted island that no one wanted to set sail to. I did so much for you and the others didn't.

Will their beauty let you rest easy in their hardworking hands and calm you like the distressed cyclops inside you? Would their lips move mountains or their wings carry you higher than you wanted to be? The answer is no.

Their beautiful is different than mine. See, I am capable of saving you from being lonely and the heal you from the brokenness that was of your childhood. I am eligible to keep secrets about your past and guide you to a mesmerizing destination, which is your future.

My beautiful is different; persuasive in seconds and luring like Afrodite. I know I am beautiful, but you will never truly speak of it.