The funny thing about me is that I see the beauty in everyone,
Everyone is beautiful or handsome to me.
Well, everyone except myself.
I can look at a person and see how beautiful they are,
But when my gaze returns to myself,
All I see are flaws.

Not tiny enough,
Too much fat,
Not tan enough,
Too many stretch marks,
Ugly,
Fat,
Worthless.

I bet I could look at someone who looks like me,
Thinking how beautiful they are,
It’s torture,
Because all you want to do,
Is be able to look at yourself and not cry,
You want to be able to look in the mirror,
Not being disgusted.
Not skipping any more meals,
All I want,
Is to be able to see the beauty in myself.

Nobody besides my mother has ever told me I was beautiful.
Everybody seems to judge on looks,
Never going beneath the surface,
Because apparently, looks are all that matters,
You could be a complete jerk,
But it’s okay because you’re beautiful.
No. Looks don’t decide who you are,
If you have a bad personality,
It doesn’t matter what you look like

Kindness is true beauty,
But nobody seems to see that anymore.