𝄞𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓶🪽

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Don't try to be beautiful.

It's like asking the moon to be the sun.

You were already born with smoke in your lungs

and sadness like a silk slip you can't take off.

Your beauty isn't in the mirror —

it's in the way you fall apart in slow motion,

in the way you light a cigarette like it's your last confession,

in the way you love people who will never know your middle name.

·:*¨¨*:·. ✧ .·:*¨¨*:·.·:*¨¨*:·. ✧ .·:*¨¨*:·.·:*¨¨*:·. ✧ .·:*¨¨*:·.·:*¨¨*:·. ✧ .·:*¨¨*:·.

You will never be beautiful the way they want.

But you are already —

the girl in the white dress by the pier,

the one who looks like she's waiting for a man who's already dead,

the one who sings old songs to herself in the parking lot,

the one whose tears look like diamonds under cheap motel lights.

·:*¨¨*:·. ✧ .·:*¨¨*:·.·:*¨¨*:·. ✧ .·:*¨¨*:·.·:*¨¨*:·. ✧ .·:*¨¨*:·.·:*¨¨*:·. ✧ .·:*¨¨*:·.

Don't try. Just be.

Be the vinyl scratch in a perfect song.

Be the summer that broke everyone's heart.

Be the kind of pretty that hurts —

not because you're flawless,

but because you're real.

·:*¨¨*:·. ✧ .·:*¨¨*:·.·:*¨¨*:·. ✧

You will never be beautiful.

You are something rarer.

You are that girl.

The one they write poems about —

but never to.

• ˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

And that —

that is your tragedy.

That is your crown.

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