The vinyl tiles felt cold, frail under my tender feet. For some reason I felt mentally drained, as I looked at my reflection in the mirror. In the soft, yellow lighting of my restroom, my skin looked creamy and my features soft. Staring at myself for what seemed like an eternity, I kept coming up with reasons why I am undesirable. I am 25, but my body looks like I've been through hell and back already. I traced the small scar on my eyelid with my fingertip, then carefully traced the hoops that now adorn my cartilages on both ears. Looks like they're healing, but I can't help but wince in pain as my finger moves my ears around a bit. Maybe they're not.
I look so tired, and so sad. I practice smiling, it looks so fake. Why do I have to force my smile on my lips most of the time? My lips are slightly bruised, nothing make up can't hide...I hope. My hands keep sliding slowly down my neck, as I trace my collar bone and every other familiar corner of my chest. My breasts are less than perfect, though with a nice bra I can normally feel like I have something to be proud of. Without one? Not so much. My small nipples were standing in attention, in this cold bathroom, as if urging me to quit the body inspection and get to showering pronto. I grab my breasts and squish them into the desired position, if only I could be that perky for the rest of my life. But gravity is already winning. Bummer.
I trace the soft scars down my stomach, and remember the days when I used to show it off and be proud of my abs. I stop there. I don't want to further investigate my wide hips and thick thighs. Real women have curves...or so they say. Confidence is carried within? Well I'm standing there, looking at a woman who's too fat to be sexy and too sexy to be fat. I have a long torso, so that helps. I definitely do not look my weight. But I can't find a corner of my body that I can completely and absolutely say I am proud of.
I let the warm water wash away two days of self doubt and questions. How can anyone call me things like 'beautiful' and 'amazing'? I lean my hand against the wall, and lay my head down, letting the shower spray the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades, feeling the coconut scent fill the steam forming around me. I cannot begin to comprehend why anyone would feel proud to be seen with me, when I am more than ashamed to be seen with myself. Who am I to pretend everything's okay and feed the hope that someone finds me attractive?
I'd had enough of the self loathing, as I reached down and turned off the water in my shower. I pressed my hot face into the soft, safe towel and felt the urge to just end everything. It would hurt a lot less if I finish things before they run their natural course, and I end up broken anyways. Everyone loves Yari. The Yari inside. The Yari outside? Well...she's only cute and loved when the people get to know the inside one. It's almost like my personality and good-nature towards others compensates the lack of virtues in the looks department.
So now I sit here in front of this laptop, in a pair of flamingo boy shorts and nothing else on. If I were thin, that would sound so amazingly hot to someone. But I am not. So it's just a fat broad in tiny undies, rubbing the lotion on her skin...
...she might as well get the hose again.
I look so tired, and so sad. I practice smiling, it looks so fake. Why do I have to force my smile on my lips most of the time? My lips are slightly bruised, nothing make up can't hide...I hope. My hands keep sliding slowly down my neck, as I trace my collar bone and every other familiar corner of my chest. My breasts are less than perfect, though with a nice bra I can normally feel like I have something to be proud of. Without one? Not so much. My small nipples were standing in attention, in this cold bathroom, as if urging me to quit the body inspection and get to showering pronto. I grab my breasts and squish them into the desired position, if only I could be that perky for the rest of my life. But gravity is already winning. Bummer.
I trace the soft scars down my stomach, and remember the days when I used to show it off and be proud of my abs. I stop there. I don't want to further investigate my wide hips and thick thighs. Real women have curves...or so they say. Confidence is carried within? Well I'm standing there, looking at a woman who's too fat to be sexy and too sexy to be fat. I have a long torso, so that helps. I definitely do not look my weight. But I can't find a corner of my body that I can completely and absolutely say I am proud of.
I let the warm water wash away two days of self doubt and questions. How can anyone call me things like 'beautiful' and 'amazing'? I lean my hand against the wall, and lay my head down, letting the shower spray the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades, feeling the coconut scent fill the steam forming around me. I cannot begin to comprehend why anyone would feel proud to be seen with me, when I am more than ashamed to be seen with myself. Who am I to pretend everything's okay and feed the hope that someone finds me attractive?
I'd had enough of the self loathing, as I reached down and turned off the water in my shower. I pressed my hot face into the soft, safe towel and felt the urge to just end everything. It would hurt a lot less if I finish things before they run their natural course, and I end up broken anyways. Everyone loves Yari. The Yari inside. The Yari outside? Well...she's only cute and loved when the people get to know the inside one. It's almost like my personality and good-nature towards others compensates the lack of virtues in the looks department.
So now I sit here in front of this laptop, in a pair of flamingo boy shorts and nothing else on. If I were thin, that would sound so amazingly hot to someone. But I am not. So it's just a fat broad in tiny undies, rubbing the lotion on her skin...
...she might as well get the hose again.
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