I don’t want to be a narcissist but I want to be complimented for my looks rather than my smarts.
It’s infuriating, I want to be perceived as pretty by people in my age range than the old creepy men at stores.
I wish to be as pretty as Jenna Ortega or Olivia Rodrigo. Their small but tall noses, high cheekbones and mesmerizing eyes make me resent my own features.
To be complimented as the beauty and brains will be seen as the highest honor,
To be chased after instead of chasing will save me time from pursuing those who won’t even glance my way
Should I take a knife to my face and sculpt it? Create a modern Aphrodite out of my own flesh and blood?
Carve out the baby fat of my cheeks, collapse the hump on my nose, sharpen my jaw to be beautiful from all angles?
The constant reminder that to be desired is animalistic, an urge that a fantasy of romance, barely scratches the itch.
The knowledge that I may have lost my chance for a fairytale romance, in turn, I turned my life into a horror movie where the main character becomes insane in the effort to be loved, to be craved by another soul.
The fact that I have to watch from the sidelines, forever being the friend of the main character, the advice giver, the confidant, the shoulder to cry on and the sole perpetrator of my problems.
It’s difficult to pursue when you’ve never been pursued, only aided in the pursuit for another person. Flirtation, smiles and longing gazes misinterpreted as solely kindness and not anything else.
If I were perceived as traditionally more beautiful, would my advances be successful? Is the reason for my failures is due to my features?
The pain of knowing that I won’t be pursued by someone I like is haunting, painful, excruciating.
I want people to stutter their words, avoid eye contact with me, plan out conversations because they were falling for me.
I want to be crushed on rather than the crusher.
dreamscape 