tiptoeing around “ugly.” I will not shed pieces of myself to fit into the compact space you call “pretty.” My biggest obstacle is not a body that is susceptible to aging. It is being told that beauty must be earned through primping, plucking, and killing any part of me that dares remind the world I am human."
"If women stopped hating their bodies, imagine how many industries would go out of business" (via 359-pine)
you’re not what you look like. you’re the music you listen to, the shows you watch, the art you make, the flowers in your hair, your favourite blanket. you’re not the pimple on your nose or the pudge on your stomach. You’re not your thighs or your teeth. you’re the colour of your hair, you’re your favourite band, you’re the mismatch socks you wear and your favourite sweater. You’re what you love, you’re not what you look like or the body you are in.
The sad moment when you realize how alone you actually are. No one ever messages you on Facebook first or texts you first or anything. So it gets to the point where you don’t want to put in the effort with people who don’t put in any effort for you, so you end up spending your life at home, never going anywhere.
If you’ve ever doubted yourself, walk deep into any forest. Notice how the trees still stand even though they are given no recognition. Walk along any stream. The water still flows, though no one stops to praise it. Watch the stars late at night; they shine without acknowledgment. Humans are just the same. We are made out of the same elements as these beautiful wonders. Always remember your beauty and self worth.
This causes you much guilt and self-blame and sadness but above all, an overwhelming curiosity. Are you really that ugly, that unwanted, that uninteresting, that boring, that no one, absolutely no one, has ever looked at you like the only thing on earth?
The answer is no. The better answer is that someone out there, somewhere in the world, is “wondering what it’s like to meet someone like you,” and they have two decades worth of love stored in their veins like a shoot-‘em-up drug, and they’re just about ready to inject it into someone else’s bloodstream. All you have to do is roll up your sleeves and wait for it to happen.
At times you felt so lonely you could stand at the edge of a cliff with nothing beneath you but air and grass and a long, long way down, and you’d still feel emptier than that canyon itself. Maybe you even danced with yourself alone in your room a few times, arms outstretched around a ghost, pretending someone else’s hands were on your waist, someone else’s eyes boring into yours.
Or maybe you fell temporarily in love with strangers on public transportation, fell in love with anybody who so much as accidentally brushed your hand on the way past. For you, falling in love with dozens of people a day was a coping mechanism for not having anyone to love you in return. But people are not eggs and falling in love with a dozen of them does not mean your shell will remain uncracked. One day you’re going to hit the point where you’re so desperate for human contact that you’re going to snap in half and all your love will bleed out like egg yolk.
But someone out there is eating a bowl of Ramen noodles right now, or putting on slippers, or settling into bed. They are doing all the normal things that you’ve done in your own life. They are just like you. They have cellulite and extra fat in all the wrong places and goals and fears and doubts and bad handwriting.
The truth is that they are just like you, and being just like you, they’re looking for a lover too. They’re what you might call a soulmate.
They think they’re all alone in feeling the way they do, but you’re really both two halves of a whole.
And one day you’ll meet them, bump into them on the street, and your two halves will be put together, and you’ll make one."