You Will Never Be Pretty.

on the rage you feel at utterly pointless hatred
03/06/2018. total words: 600

"you will never be pretty."
the bile rises in your throat.
"you will never be pretty,"
you cannot really slice ugliness out of your veins. no matter how much you starve, or cry out your water reserves, or try to run out the agony, you cannot make the jeers or the pity go away. they ring out louder than the noises in the woods, made by more forgiving predators. your classmates refuse to go near you because you're untouchable, like your weight is a contagious disease. but their expressions of laughter and disgust make up for their silence, that laughter like it's a joke. like it's some sort of game and you're being upset over nothing. of course it was nothing. you never really were amused, were you?
so you go home and swallow down the bile, refuse to swallow down dinner. it won't really help. you know it won't help. the jeers never stop, not when you're crying alone or when your crush scoffs at you or when you can't hear anything else or when you dare to try and be happy for once.
"you will never be pretty."
you write it down over and over and over again but it doesn't help. you can't get the words out of your head like the blood in the veins in your wrists. they act like your weight is some contagious disease that you so obviously chose to have, like you deserve the notes in your locker and the scars on your mind and body. like this is your fault and yours alone, and it's that simple.

pretty isn't all that there is in this world - maybe you should stop aiming for it.
a wolf executes its prey and rips through throats and spines like they're nothing, staining its mane with crimson blood that glitters more than rubies set in sterling silver.
that same wolf howls in the night at the new moon, yearning for a response it knows it'll never receive. it echoes and echoes and it might be strong but that wolf will still go to sleep wishing it didn't wake up.

you will never be pretty. maybe that's because you're so much more.
maybe that's because pretty is a compliment they use when nobody knows what else to tell you. maybe it's because pretty is arbitrary and tells you more about the person saying it than who they're saying it to. maybe it's because pretty means absolutely nothing at all.
so don't swallow down the bile any more. when they laugh, rip through their throats with the nails you had painted yesterday, with the charm necklace you bought to make their jeers go away when all it ever did was amplify them.
when you howl out your fury, know that you won't get a response. when you fight back, you won't see the person on the sidelines, eyes wide with bloodstained horror and beautiful delight. instead you'll see the fear in that boy's face when you rip off your necklace and force it 'round his windpipe, as tight as the corset of standards you'll never fit into.
you won't ever hear someone howl back in equal misery, but you'll also never know how much of a difference you'll make that day. after all, you never know how beautiful the wolf is until you see the blood dripping from its jaws, and your howls already shattered all the mirrors.
so fine, you will never be pretty.
but you have always, always, been so much more. and in the end?
untouchable becomes a new word, with an entirely different meaning.