Not enough

When you’re not conventionally beautiful, you can say goodbye to feeling secure in your relationships. Your life will be inundated by looking at other women and comparing the shape of their face to yours, the size of their lips, the perfection that is their smile, and the length of their hair.

I’m working on growing my hair, on looking presentable in public. Seeking ways I could feel confident, smiling at the camera without feeling as though my smile is too crocked to be seen.

To look at my husband and see the pain in his eyes, the regret for not choosing someone beautiful. Someone with a body that could kill, someone who could wake up in the morning and only need a simple wash of the face to be revived to their natural beauty.

It is me who do not hate makeup, I like to see how it is applied from start to finish, it is an art. A way to enhance what is already there, to look at yourself in a different light and to say it is my talent that created this smooth finish.

Though when I look at it, I can’t help to want that face and that talent. So that I can pass for someone who isn’t constantly on the verge of getting cheated on. Maybe if I was beautiful, the gentle way that I express my feelings would not pull at anyone’s desire to threaten looking else where.

If you are beautiful or you like at least something about yourself, please do express that and use it in whatever way you feel you need to.

The effects of being ugly is like a disease, one day you’re living your life without the need to exist solely by your face and the next; you want to make eye contact with the wall instead of the person you’re talking with.

Will it be right if I say it makes me want to explore other men. To be devoid of the responsibility of belonging in a space that is repulsed by my beauty or the features that I lack? Is it fair to use them for the advantage of not being tied to them, to have their lust confirm to me only for 20 minutes that they are with me and not with many?

Far too alluring is this grasping after a lie, it’s emotionally draining picturing myself in a 20 minute trance. But to be there in a place where I am wanted after the release but discarded after life stresses, too lazy to communicate, lacking trust to be patient- when the stress is gone I am needed again but after the contact lens is in.

Tight clothing and short skirts, mocking me on the hangers. Long haired wigs pitching its tent in front of me. What I want is to be naturally beautiful, what I want is enhancements.

Choreography and music, finding ways to get back to who I’ve never been. Despising my anger and feeling closer to hatred than I am love, than I am tolerance.

I will tolerate the pretty faces, the red lips: the long hair, sexual prowess and living in a world where everything goes. I will tolerate sharing the streets with people who are like me, no matter what you look like, you’re not excluded from feeling ugly.

Sometimes it’s better to be loud in writing but careful when you speak. We have more time in writing to cover the grey areas, less time in speaking to save the feelings we don’t want to be hurt.

So yes I am expressing how I feel, but I am attempting to also point out what is wrong with me. The parts of me that makes me an equal devil in coitus with the things that hurts me.

Things are only fair when you’re dead, because nothing is happening.