I've never been a vision of beauty,
Perhaps a fleeting glance catches your eye,
Yet as you draw closer, reality shatters the illusion.
Beauty has never been my ally, my refuge sought in layers of paint and extravagant attire.
I've sought refuge in any distraction from my face and form.
No cosmetic palette was mine to wield,
Until I chanced upon my mother's treasures and dared to try.
I still recall the laughter that echoed in mockery.
But through practice and persistence, the taunting turned to inquiries seeking guidance.
They call me "photogenic," yet adorned in layers of artifice, who isn't?
The thought of meeting someone face to face, only to witness the shadow of disappointment, chills me to the bone.
"Why such low standards?" they ask, ignorant of the mirror's cruel verdict.
How can one afford lofty expectations when faced with this reflection?
Yet, amidst the deceit, there are those who meet my gaze and profess admiration without hesitation.
Deceivers.
I've never been beautiful.
I remain untouched by beauty's grace.
I shall never know its embrace.
And so, I must reconcile with this truth, forsaking the fantasy that someone might choose me before exhausting all other options.
