I am told to be grateful
Of the attention I receive
Lustful glances, flirty compliments
How much happier could a woman be?
It does feel nice, I’ll admit
To be able to capture their eyes
To know I’m regarded as pretty
I’m something to be won, a prize
But it’s all shallow, meaningless
A surface-level appreciation
That will never truly satisfy me..
What a heartbreaking situation
To feel discomfort choking me
As I bask in their endless praises
Dread pooling in my stomach
While I blush at their intrusive gazes
Because I remember the little girl
Who was nerdy and awkward and ugly
Who didn’t know how to dress, how to act
With a huge nose and eyes that were buggy
Who was innocent and immature
And fell in love with her books
Would spend hours curled up with them
While others teased her for her looks
She was sweet, loving, and kind
Even to those she disgusted
Was so desperate to make friends
That in cruel people, she trusted
I still have so much of her in me
I’m the same awkward little nerd
But while it was laughable then
Now it’s attractive-
-but that’s just absurd.
Because on the inside I’m the same
As the little girl I once was
Who didn’t know how to dress
And was embarrassing in conversation
Who had overlarge facial features
And was way too innocent for her age
Who little girls laughed and scoffed at
And little boys pretended to ask out
Who was the “hairy and geeky Indian girl”
That just wasn’t cool enough, popular enough-
-except now, I’m pretty.
That’s the only thing that changed, really.
Now I dress acceptably
And follow social norms
And am mature enough for people my age
And know how to talk
And know how to act
And know how to do my makeup
And know how to style my hair
And so now
They like me.
Now my personality is worth something
Now I’m worth flirting with
Now I get asked for my snap
Asked out on dates
Given the up-and-down looks
Now I’m worth smiling at
Now I’m worth talking to
But it doesn’t mean shit
Because they fawn over my pretty layers
But have never bothered to peel them back
And truly appreciate me.