You can’t believe the world looks at you any different then the way your mirror does. Your self-image sits as a devil on your shoulder, whispering critique and hate.
You lay your clothes out the night before, shopping at the same stores they do. You buy extra promising foundation, hoping the haunting remains of your teen years will soak into your skin. Your hair won’t grow the way you want it to, your body won’t shape your clothes the way you wish they would.
You do everything to hide your imperfections. To erase the things you hate. To battle the impurities you hide behind, day after day. As hard as it is to believe, you’re more then a number on the scale. More then a number of likes on a picture. So be proud to be a paint-by-number and they’ll still look at you like art.