When I was younger, I longed to be beautiful. To have shiny hair, soft skin, collarbones poking through my flesh.
Now that I'm older, I want to burn hearts with intelligence and warm souls with compassion. I want to boil blood with wit and spark imaginations with creativity. I want to soak up the rays of sunny praise for my artwork and poetry rather than my eyes and lips.
I am not programmed with a self destruct button, but calling me beautiful for the wrong reasons is the second best thing.