Beauty;

Beauty brought me nothing.
But pain,
But false hope,
But abuse,
But fake love,
But striving for perfection,
But never reaching it,
But betrayal,
But hatred,
But mistrust,
But anger,
But deception,
But attention,
But not the sort I wanted.

Beauty,
created through society,
brought me nothing.
So I created my own Beauty.

The obsession was endless
tears undeserving, a hated addiction.
"let me breathe,
or I might just die"
scrawled on the bathroom wall.

Oh! How excited I'd be,
to meet the ground, six feet underneath.
Unafraid of missing the northern lights,
exhausted with these caustic words
flying like bullets out of my own mind.

Gossipy little words throughout my ears-
spreading heinous lies about my character
but he scrawled threats I know I might take seriously.

Scars lined up like cheerleaders upon a gymnasium floor.
Death shoves to take his spot at the top of the bleachers,
looming over those laughing scars.

An announcement is made;
Bookworms writhe at the thought of a human's words going to waste,
Stoners rush out of the way,
Jocks make haste to find what to say
Death just laughs
while, other kids pray.

Be loud and be proud
be quiet and keep to yourself
be upfront and demanding
be reserved and stay together
be beautiful and pretty
be hot and ****
be dainty and quaint
and rock the **** world.

Be you.
Be whoever you are comfortable being.

Don't let them tell you to shut up
don't let them tell you to talk more
don't let them tell you you're a *****
or that you're too nice.
Don't let them tell you you can't be beautiful, pretty, hot and **** **** all at once
because you know what?
You are.
Don't let them tell you to be rougher
don't let them tell you to be ladylike.

You are mother-effing lady
and you get to decide what that means.