You…
Oh yes…you… the one that brings that crooked smile to my face that rots the flesh off a store-bought cantelope. That hideous way my nose wrinkles up and shows every imperfection of my misshapen head when you whisper something into those ears my grandma passed down to me.

Oh you, of course it’s you that makes me feel like I have no imperfections and yet for you whom I drown myself in self-medicated ointments to try to be that Megn Fox that everyone idolizes as the sexiest girl ever to be shown on anything other than a porno, and yet that’s still to come.
For you I worry about every ordinary spot on my skin that drags me further from being that little girl’s dream of Barbie, you know… The one that if she were constructed as a real human being, she’d fall over dead because her legs are too long and her waist is too small. Yeah, that’s what we teach our men and women what beauty should look like… death.

Well, if death is beautiful, then why don’t we all commit suicide, I wouldn’t have been the first to jump off that skyscraper. You know, the one that’s in the center, of a populous so conceited, even a meteor wouldn’t shake their eyes from their Ipads, and cell phones. Hm? You know... you think the sound would be ear shattering, but in that world of hustle and bustle, it’ll fit right in with the honking horns of taxi cabs and the mindless chatter of walking businessmen and women, and the screams of help that echo out of the dark alleyways that everyone seems to ignore, except your friendly neighborhood Spiderman.

I don’t want to be another broken dream. I realize that even if I were perfect... Without these thighs that jiggle and remind you of cottage cheese… I’d still be just another piece of eye-candy. Nameless, and of course, clothe less in the minds of every horny bastard that just so “happens” to run into me while walking down the sidewalk just so he can apologize and make up for it by taking me out to dinner where he can hopefully butter me up so that I’ll slip into bed with him for the night and he’d have the bragging rights at the office the next day and he’ll say, “look at what I tapped last night and I’ve got pictures to prove it.”

Well, I don’t want to be your one night stand! I’d rather gouge out my own gorgeous blue eyes that remind you of your ex-girlfriend who left you 2 nights ago. I want to be unique…imperfect even. Sure, let me dream of being on America’s next top model, but what will that buy me? Diet pills and a trip to the bathroom after every meal to regurgitate my food like a mama bird? No thank you. I’m fine just being me…

The girl who never had flawless skin, a thin waist, a great rack, the perfect set of legs, or the completely symmetrical head. I’m the girl who has the ears that my grandma passed down to me and the crooked smile that, although it melts the skin off a store-bought cantelope, can bring a crooked smile to your face as well.