No matter what I do, I feel out of place.

The only time I feel ok is in my own little space.

Every mark, every hair, every pound I notice.

All the imperfections seem to be my main focus.

Maybe they see them too, and maybe they don’t.

I can’t help but think that maybe I can make sure they won’t .

I hide behind the confidence, and the mask of an extrovert.

When really, it takes every fiber of my being to pretend I’m not an introvert.

Hide fear, show courage, ignore insecurity.

Mask the flaws, display beauty with integrity.

Deny self hatred, promote social status.

Ignore that it always feels like everyone’s looking at us.

Fool the crowd and feed them what I want them to believe.

Unfortunately for me, not everyone is so naive.

Some will call me out on everything I try to hide.

Make me face my insecurities, tear me up from the inside.

They’ll uncover everything about me that I view as an imperfection.

And make me deny all these beliefs as I stare at my own reflection.

They’ll feed me with their ‘healthy‘ understanding of my beauty.

And try to rescue me from myself like it’s their responsibility.

Short hair, long hair, more hair, thicker hair

Small waist, blue eyes, button nose, something else to wear!

My definition of beauty here defined.

And without those features I’m ‘one of a kind’.

The ugly duckling, the blue gene, the extra chromosome.

No matter what I fix, I just have an odd selection of genomes.

I’m all tattered, imperfect, and unsettled.

And yet YOU STILL like that I’m freckled?



-XoXo, Oxie-