another girl
there’s always been, for as long as i can remember,
another girl i’d rather be.
when i was a little, it was my best friend lexie
because of her comparitively towering height and sense of leadership.
she could do all the things i couldn’t:
reach things up high on the shelf, swim, play sports, and have lots of friends.
then i became a preteen, and in my awkward maturing stage
where i was just beginning to learn how to deal with pads
and how to straighten my hair,
another girl i’d rather be came along.
her name is destiny,
and somehow she never experienced an “ugly” middle school phase.
she was beautiful her whole entire life,
her makeup was flawless, her wardrobe filled with essentials,
and she could straighten her hair without leaving lines in it!
i, on the other hand, had whatever my mother could afford,
my makeup made me look more racoon than beautiful,
and yes. straightening my hair was a struggle for me.
then i became a teenager — a real teenager, who goes to high school and everything.
i met another girl i’d rather be.
trinity.
her beauty made me completely forget all about destiny’s —
with her rich brown eyes, tanned skin, and long silky black hair.
she could do cat eyes effortlessly, but she really didn’t need makeup at all.
not only that, but she was hilariously funny, and all the boys wanted her.
i still didn’t know how to speak to anyone without coming off as ‘rude’
because of my crippling shyness.
and then i graduated high school.
and suddenly, there were far too many girls i’d rather be:
ariana grande, kourtney kardashian, kendall jenner, marzia bisognin, amy nelson.
each having something i desperately want.
ariana is skinny,
kourtney is rich,
kendall is built like a model,
marzia is creative,
amy is part of a friend group i would kill for.
i wish i could finish this poem by saying something like
“and after all these years of wishing to be another girl, i finally realized the only girl i want to be is myself!”
… but i can’t.
because it just isn’t true.
i’d rather be any other girl but me.
i look in the mirror and scavenge my brain for any redeeming quality,
but all the ones i find are ones i can’t say without questioning.
intelligent? pretty? selfless? loyal?
all things told to me by others, but never have i told them to myself.
i look in the mirror and see wasted intelligence, a lazy shell, an overweight acne-prone body, a selfish piece of shit, too quick to cut people off so i don’t get hurt.
not every story has a good ending.
i’m still trying to learn to love myself.
(and admittedly, i keep finding that “loving myself” just means trying to become more and more like another girl.)
i’m sure in another year i’ll find even more girls who have something i want.
the grass is always greener on the other side.
