Acceptance.

Sometimes.

Patricia found out the hard way. That her wanting to be unique is an extra option that she dug up sometimes.

That dead bodies that it held were from ages before her. No one dared to lay in the grave beside her though.

She noticed that no one liked to be seen as different. She had always noticed her homophobic parents too.

How they cursed others for being themselves.

She noticed her friends.
Her pretty friends.
Who had went to the depths of hell to play a game with a knife to be prettier than the sun.

She also noticed the lack of love that she carried for herself.
When she applied makeup, Patricia tried so hard not to cry. She tried so hard not to die a little bit on the inside.

But she wanted to be pretty.
Patricia Stewart wanted to be normal.