very ugly, and loved… not improperly, because I don’t think that’s a possible thing, but unsatisfactorily. I have been spoiled by poems and film. 

No matter how hard I work to become OK with myself, to start working on improving myself and my quality of life instead of just complaining, I am knocked back down to where I started.

I admit, prolonged Tumblr use doesn’t help. Eventually I stumble upon the wrong things— beautiful girls, wonderful fashion, quotes, cliches, sex, photos of foreign cities— and indulge in them like sweets that eventually just leave me nauseous. I stare at each picture until it tears enough of me apart, and then move on to the next. Repeat the process until I am so consumed by self-loathing absolutely everything around me just won’t do. Least of all that reflection in the mirror. “Why can’t you be more beautiful? Have clearer skin, softer hair? Why do you have no sense of style? Why can’t you wear anything right? Why doesn’t your boyfriend treat you like you’re the most beautiful, precious thing in the world, something he doesn’t deserve, like love is *supposed* to be? (It’s not) Why aren’t you clever, creative, productive, adored, privileged, admired, insightful, strong, slender? Why are you failing in every single way?

Perhaps I just secretly sabotage myself because it’s easier to wallow in what I don’t have, than to continue struggling every day of my life to work towards only ever being a cheap knockoff of what I really wish I was, because it can’t be forced of faked, it must come naturally. 

To be nothing, or to be merely a pale imitation? Some nights I feel like those are my only options.

LIKE MY MOTHERFUCKING HOGWARTS LETTER, GODDAMMIT.