Insecurity has always been a girl’s enemy.
This was the worst battle I’ve ever faced against myself. I hated my body. I hated my unclear skin. I hated my unruly hair. I hated everything that made me as me.
The type of beauty defined by media was what I believed to be the standard of everything. Girls who have smooth skin, narrow waist, long legs, and flowing hair are the ones who are worshipped, branded as the only ones who can be accepted as beautiful. The rest who didn’t make the cut are set aside, called ugly, and laughed upon.
Is that what beauty truly is? Does it scorn the imperfect, the flawed?
“…art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.” -Rainbow Rowell
The moment I considered myself art was the moment I stopped hating myself. I realized no one can really label which is beautiful and which is not. What is the basis of beauty, after all? Since when does beauty have a standard?
This is a battle cry. To all the girls who feel small because they don’t look like the girls on the cover of those magazines, hold your head high. You are an art. You deserve to feel beautiful and confident with all those flaws. Show the society the colors of your soul, the music in your voice. For there is more to beauty than what they realize. Beauty is not the surface of a calm sea. Beauty is the sunken pirate ships and lost treasures beneath it.
Show what is inside you. Free yourself of the fear that holds you back. You are an art. Let no one tell you otherwise.