(yes, this is me. or my hands, at least.)
My hair is 18 years old. Frankly, I'm tired of it and it's tired of me.
I've been asked to keep it the way it is by a special someone, at least for a little while, and I've agreed. But eventually, I'm going to dye it red and possibly get it permed. I'm proud of it's natural length, I admit, but many, many years from now, I may just cut it all off to spite myself. You know Michelle from Skins?
I want her hair so bad.
I absolutely, positively, without a bloody doubt HATE the dark circles under my eyes. I would do nearly anything to be rid of them. My pale, pale complexion paired with purple insomnia bags, does not bode well with me. I look in the mirror and pull and pinch at the skin on my face. Then I say "ugh" aloud.
Thirdly, I'm skinny all over. A bean pole, I've been called. Except in one general area. It bugs me, man.
But my eyes, I don't mind one little bit. Ever changing. They're unique. I've learn to love my feet, smaller than most. My high cheekbones, showing heritage. My prominent collarbone. My heart shaped lips. My long fingers. My shapely legs. In general, I love the skin I'm in. Mostly because I'm finally comfortable with myself. I am me. These are my thoughts and this is my body. I'm not going to change anything permanantly that was given especially to me to be mine.
By loving me, you are teaching me to love myself.
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