Don’t compare, they’ll tell you.

Worry not about fitting the mold, you’ll hear.

Stand out. Stand out. Be different. Be the you no one else can be.

Sameness is plainness, you’ll conclude.

Me. What’s me and not her? What’s her and if she has that, I mustn’t. Or?

Go bigger, stronger, wilder, weirder, geek out all the time because what’s inside is what makes you pretty and weird is pretty.

Pretty. Still?

Work on your innards, you’ll push yourself…

Get in there and dig around. Stir shit up, make a mess. Be a mess and admit it to everyone. Calculate.

Stranger hobbies, gorier interests, horrible music and catastrophic art. What isn’t taken must be me because what else is left to be only mine?

Uniqueness is chicness, and you’ve got a handle on this right?

Pretty.

Have reason for everything, a backstory, one of interest rather than class. My father, doctor, teacher, sister. Involved and intertwined in the me that no one else can be.

Me. Mine. Intricate… and pretty.

Pretty.

Tell me I’m normal and I’ll cry, tell me I fit in and I’ll feel I’ve failed. Tell me I’m odd and I’ll tingle with satisfaction, laugh at my flaws and I’ll graciously floor the me-ness with smiles and stories.

Craft.

Craft pretty.

Craft you, craft me.

But, you.

You.

Don’t you compare, because beauty is a construct and you could never fit that anyway.

Stand out. Stand out in spades, because girl that’s what you’ve got.

Be pretty different.