Somehow.
I don't want you to see me for who I really am, any more than you want me to see you.
My body leaves more than enough to be desired, and I gave up on my competition with 20 year olds 6 years ago. I looked 20 at 16, and that was the last time. I have stretch marks all over my body from growing up too fast, and they're not something you can reverse without money. I have scars on my knees, and on my face, and on my arms. My skin is not soft in parts, and there are road markers in places covered by clothing. I have moles and freckles every where, from summers spent with parents that thought they were beauty marks. My eyes are different sizes. And though everyone's body tells a story, mine is not a happy one.
You'll never notice the freckle on my lip that I wished for, or the two freckles on my right foot, the scars around my ankles from last summer. One of my toes is crooked, and I swear I still have a rock in my right knee.
Don't we all want someone to find the perfectness in something? Dwell too long on an elbow, or a curve, or a mark...