The ugly truth
I’ve put this off – taking people’s feelings into consideration. But it’s time.
I felt brave this week – wearing the brighter lipstick, the eye makeup. As a rule, I only wear rice powder, light mascara a little color on my cheeks and a swipe of lipstick.
I wanted to try something different.
I even wore a beautiful large necklace on Monday – I felt like I had a neon sign over my head ‘LOOK!’
Please don’t look I was saying on the inside.
I’ve been told, and I know that by societies standards, I’m pretty. I don’t consider myself beautiful – but I had nothing to do with my genes and it is a fact, I am not ugly.
Besides not liking to wear makeup, I can’t wear necklaces with earrings at the same time and vice versa.
I can’t wear clothes that draw attention to myself. (Someone complimented me on a particular outfit – that someone was male. I haven’t worn it since).
I don’t want to be looked at for my outside appearance.
I don’t want you to tell me I’m pretty.
Pretty hasn’t served me well.
Pretty has littered my life with ugly.
I have been molested, I have been raped. Multiple times. I have been disrespected, I have been leered at.
I want my soul to be seen. My soul is pretty.
I want my mind to be seen. It is sharp and full of interesting things.
I want my deeds to be felt – my abilities recognized.
I want my heart to be heard beating – maybe that’s why I have tachycardia … maybe it’s trying extra hard?
I want to one day, be in a relationship and not cringe at a touch. To be able to be told I’m pretty and glow with appreciation.
I’ve forgiven the many men who have hurt me. I have forgiven myself for the promiscuity bred from being taught that was love.
But nurture has made more of an impression on my psyche than nature.
I will heal. I will. I have come so far.