I am beautiful.
I’ve always had confidence problems.
People didn’t cause it.
I guess that I am a perfectionist.
I wanted that stereotypical Barbie body.
Small, Tan, Tall, and perfect.
I became unhealthy.
Always pale and cold.
Sad.
Then I came back into reality.
I saw that my idea of perfection was a plastic doll.
It was a sick reality that I had become accustomed to.
I was obsessed with it.
One day, after a long school day, I realized what I am.
I am beautiful.
I am not what I had made myself believe.
I was not those negative things.
I did it.
I am me, I am beautiful.
This poem is about:
Me