Its hard for me to think that I'm perfect, or that my life is perfect…because its not. Holding in my interior doesn’t help when I paint over my exterior with flowers and daisies. It’ll never be me. That girl with a perfect home and a perfect complexion. That girl with beautiful dreams and picture perfect perception of life. The girl with lots of friends and never ending happy vibe. That girl will never be me, as much as I’d like. I’m such being who I am.

I’ve grown a little and that stuff doesn’t affect me as much anymore. I’ve learned to deal with that and I'm slowly learning to accept it. Now I wonder who I am. This girl who I see looking back at me in the mirror. Who is this girl? The one covered in flowers and daisies.

I've learned. I am special, unique. I am original not ordinary, but a different kind of beautiful. The base of my exterior if a beautiful prints that transforms into a unique piece of abstract composition. An image I previously thought was ugly was really just different, holding in beauty just expressed in an unexpected way.