I am 16,
I do not feel beautiful.
People said I’d be a heartbreaker,
I had those big blue eyes and those pretty blonde curls.
Those big blue eyes turned dull and held heavy shadows below them.
Those curls turned brown and unruly.
Everyone said I was smart;
then I went from smart to kind.
I do not feel beautiful because I am just kind.

I am 16,
I do not feel beautiful.
They said I would outgrow the chubby stage,
be elegant and tall, like my little sister,
I was just a late bloomer.
I stopped waiting and started working,
they said I’m an athlete, a prodigy,
but I would look better losing a pound than gaining one.
I am a prodigy,
but I am a chubby athlete,
a chubby athlete with a BMI of 22.3.

I am 16,
I was told I look like my mother.
I do not look like her,
my teeth are white,
I am fair-skinned and freckle-less.
I do not look like her,
I have pouting lips, a thin top and a full bottom lip.
I am short and well muscled with soft hips.
My eyes are bright and my mind is awake.

I am 16,
I do not feel beautiful,
because I was told I look like a woman
who only ever showed her ugly soul.
Her teeth are gross and cracked,
she is wrinkled and freckled,
her lips are overly full,
she is tall and so thin it’s sick.
Her eyes are glazed over, her mind is fogged
because she never bothered to try it awake.

I am 16,
I do not need to be beautiful,
because I am healthy, kind, and smart.
I am an athlete with a bright future,
and a writer with a pen in hand.
I do not need to be beautiful
when my work is.