myself on a shelf

No one likes who they are nowadays; getting surgeries to “fix” their bodies, applying makeup to cover what’s meant to be there, dying their hair to bring out the color in their eyes, when no one really cares, as long as you’re nice to look at.

Don’t leave me out, of course, I’m one of them. I want piercing blue-green eyes that change shades when the color rushes in and back out like the sea. And I want olive skin that radiates over my face with health and beauty. I want soft caramel curls that cascade down my back so that it sways with every step.

Because if I were who I wished to be, I would place myself on a shelf.

But more than any of the things I wish to be, I wish someone would like me because I’m me; because I’m what they dreamed to be, the way that I am now.