Thursday, January 3, 2019
I walked to my next class. The person I liked had something to tell me. I knew it would be bad. I kept walking. He made sure that I knew that he didn’t like me. I wasn’t expecting anything from him. I had already knew. But even to let me imagine was wasn’t something I deserved. I started to run, pretending not to hear him call me ugly. I squeezed the tears out. I didn’t cry
they thought that I was so repulsive, that even the thought of me liking them, was horrible to them. That they vehemently told me that I was ugly. I never bothered them. I never talked to them. I told my friend I thought they were cute. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for my crooked teeth, curled out like a rodent, I’m sorry for my acne, I’m sorry for my oily hair, stuck to my face, my patchy dry gaping mouth, my small beady eyes, my vacant stare, my protruding somatch I’m sorry I cannot be pleasing on the eyes
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I