i want to be pretty
I want to be kind

i want to be loveable

i want to be wanted

instead

i got this ugly face
ugly personality
this ugly body
that makes everyone go away

I want to love myself
but i hate myself

i want to die die die
no i just want to be perfect

I want what she has
i know i never will

what do you see in her
that you cant find in me

you like because
you love despite

and you say you love me
but never despite

you like her because
she is all this and that
i cant be any of those and im sorry

why cant you just love me

well i do hate myself
a lot
so who doesnt give you the right
to hate me too?


its hard to stay sober
from self-hate

its the strongest drug
i’ll ever take

hooked on its bitter taste
hanging by its threads

tangled in its promises
that nothing will be good

for me atleast.

End.

Confidence is tricky.
Because there’s something weird about loving the way you look at the one minute,
But then you stare too long
And then you regret it.
Then you wipe off your makeup, rip off that dress, kick off your heels.
Suddenly you are in your bed, and you say are “sick”.
I guess you can say you’re sick of yourself and of the way you look.
And you will question the reality of it:
Do I really look like that? Is it just the mirror? Just the camera?
Or maybe it is just you.
Confidence tells you that you look beautiful,
but when your anxiety stems from your want to be confident, it’s tricky.
You can’t control it and you can’t just stop.
Maybe confidence is staring, maybe it’s just owning, and accepting.
Is confidence telling me I am beautiful or that this is the best it will get?
Why is confidence so tricky I ask as I put my shoes and dress back on, and restart my makeup.

What happens when the price of beauty
Is suffering
What is left
When often I'm too willing to pay

What happens when looking in the mirror and what looks back at me
Is never satisfying
What is left
When I give and give and grow empty

It won't come easy
But it will come

"QUEEN"

Black ink being spilled,
Scorching words uttered,
Soul shattered,
Emotions scattered,
She has been put down badly,
Her femininity being the only reason,

Like a warrior she fights,
For her rights,
Sprinkled upon the coal black darkness; were the twinkling stars,
Soul woven back with pearls,
Emotions with a golden thread,
Power walking like a QUEEN that she is,
Oh! She has never been so strong.

~ Ayesha Nadeem

when i was younger,
my mom would turn the mirror to me with bright eyes.

"look at my beautiful girl!"
she'd say.
her truth was the only one that mattered,
and so i'd smile,
crooked teeth and disheveled hair
because, well,
if she thought i was beautiful,
surely i was.

i'm sixteen, it's been ten years.
time has worn my confidence thin.


i can't look in the mirror anymore.

I want to feel beautiful.
To feel confident
To feel loved
To feel beautiful.

Who stole my beautiful?
Where did it go?
It was just here...

But then someone pointed out how fat I am.
They noticed my acne
and my mom jeans.
They asked if I had ever had a boyfriend,
And laughed when I shook my head no.
They told me I was the reason there were waves in the pool
And told me my swimsuit was ugly.
They said my hair was greasy
And I kind of smelled.
They asked why I had to shop at Catherine's
And why not Aeropostale.

They stole my beautiful.
And they weren't even sorry.

They STOLE it.
Stealing is a crime,
But not when it comes to ****** 8 year olds
Who think it's okay to hurt others.
Not when it comes to shady friends who say they can bring these things up,
"Because we're friends."
Not when it comes to judgmental family memebers
Who don't know what it's like to wear size 16 jeans.
(Actually, 18...)
(I'm embarrassed.)

Nobody stops these people from stealing.
From stealing the beautiful from
A 10 year old who already knows the worst,
But she's choosing to be confident anyway.
A 13 year old who's unloved by others,
But she's still trying so ******* hard to love herself.
A 16 year old weighing 250 pounds,
But she's exercising through the depression.
A 17 year old bent over the toilet,
Trying to lose the weight you told her was ugly,
And trying to find the beautiful you should have told her about instead.

But they stole my beautiful.
The beautiful that got me through every day.
The beautiful that reminded me size doesn't matter.
The beautiful that belongs to me.
The beautiful you took.
Like there was some kind of limited supply or something.
Like mine deserved to be stolen.
Yeah, you took that kind of beautiful.

And you left an even greater treasure behind.