Pretty.
You called me pretty after I told you how ugly I felt
You touched my face and called me pretty after I told you I felt fat.
You held my hand and called me pretty
As I watched your eyes wander across the bar
To the pretty blonde in a tight skirt and tiny shirt
Don’t tell me I’m pretty cause in my eyes
A flower still damp from the morning dew is pretty
A field full of green clovers with white flowers sprinkled in between is pretty
Pretty is the drawing my little 5 year old made me
Pretty is the smile that crosses her face
The sound of the voice from someone I haven’t heard from in years is pretty
But not me. . At least not when you say it like that
Not having to beg for compliments or even have to take compliments is pretty
The sun on a hot day is pretty
And the light blue sky full of fluffy white clouds is pretty
The song the birds sing is pretty
and the sound of the woodpecker on a tin roof is pretty
Strange and foolish. . But pretty
In fact that’s what makes it pretty
The imperfections on my face and the scars on my body are pretty
The unique look I have and messy style I have is pretty
My weird laughs and random quirks are pretty
Not the fact that you want me
Not the way you don’t look at me when you say I’m pretty
Not the fact that you’re eyes still wander
Pretty is knowing I’m not fake
Pretty is knowing I speak my mind and stand up for myself
Pretty is knowing I don’t need you to falsely compliment me
Pretty is knowing that I will never look like her
Nor do I ever want to
Pretty is the fact that I love and respect myself
And have come to love my body
Pretty is in my eyes seeing that I’m flawless

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