Being beautiful.
Ah, what a thing it is, right?
Gets you everywhere.
Being beautiful.
Do something wrong,
You aren't hated quite as much.
Ah, but she's so beautiful, it's okay.
Right?
Being beautiful.
The ultimate goal.
Right?
You are so beautiful.
The ultimate compliment.
Right?
I'll tell you something.
I know I am beautiful.
On my worst days,
On my sad days,
I spend hours on my makeup.
My hair.
My clothes.
If I look my best
You can be almost sure I feel my worst.
Because beautiful for me
Is a defense.
Here is the thing:
Nobody would have me if I wasn't.
Nobody would listen to a word I say.
Nobody would put up with my passion,
My intensity,
My need for love and affection,
My stubbornness and fearfulness.
I am tolerated
Because I am beautiful.
It's not a triumph.
It's just a tool.
I am accepted
Because I am beautiful.
And even then I push the limits-
There are things I need that I
Am not beautiful enough to need.
Things I am starving for
That I am not beautiful enough to demand.
Things I can't say
Because I'm not quite exquisite enough to get away with it.
Beauty
To people who don't believe they have it
Is a shining goal, a possession of such worth.
But beauty
To some of us
Is merely the mask we wear
So that the world will have us.