When your face breaks open to someone, smiling, or to just be, just feel, you have beauty on your side, more so than if you are sneering at another woman.
When he told me that “the beautiful ones always smashed the pictures, always, every time,” I knew that someone understood — I was a beautiful one, simple me.
My body’s a lot fleshier now, a little dimpled and wobbly in places. In exchange for all she’s done for me this is nothing to be sad for.
There was a point I decided I would just embrace the flat-chestedness.
I’ll eat whatever the damn hell I want and dress however I feel like. Even if it makes me look like a lemon. Heck, maybe because it makes me look like a lemon. Thank you.