You Wouldn’t Think I Am Pretty Now

I had my first kiss on my bedroom floor and I started liking boys just because someone told me they liked me. 

What does it mean to like someone?

You think I am kind in the way I treat others. I make you laugh, and I make you smile like it hurts. I am passionate. I am creative. But, do you like me because of that? 

I think you like me because you think I am pretty. What does that mean? Do you think I will kiss you and make you look cool just because you think I am pretty? Pretty, but only because I look like this and I am twelve. 

You are pretty for twelve.

If I was thirteen you would think I am prettier because at that age being older means you’re more mature and mature is cooler. Maturity at thirteen is gross and you cannot tell me what to do. But, you want to be cool. 

You don’t want to be called names; you want to be praised. You don’t look at who I tell you I think I am. You look at my face and my soft skin, timid smile, and you look at the way people look at me. I don’t know if people look at me, but you make me feel like they do. 

You wanting me made me feel like others wanted me because you wouldn’t want me unless you wanted to prove to others you could get me. “Get me.” Why do we want to be desired? Who let my twelve year old self believe I needed to be desired. Where did I get that? 

You wouldn’t think I am pretty now. I still have dimples and soft skin, but my smile is no longer timid but happy. My hair is sometimes scraggly and I have bags under my eyes that won’t go away. I am kind, I am passionate, and I am creative. But, you wouldn’t know that because you didn’t know that then and now you don’t know me. 

I don’t care about you, but I care about who I was when I knew you. I care because someone, people, let the person I was when I knew you believe that it was always good to be liked.

I may still want to be wanted, but it’s not because of you. It’s because of the world around me and a flakey father that didn’t teach me that men can be good and that it’s also okay if I don’t like men. 

No one told me I didn’t have to like these boys. Why not? Girls who liked girls were okay, but that didn’t apply to me.

I am a woman and I liked men because they liked me. I was straight until I realized I could be something else. I was told I was straight until I realized I could be something else. And, I wasn’t homophobic unless it applied to myself because I was taught that it was hard, and I learned young that it was different.

I realized I could like anyone and I hated the world for making it so hard to realize the most simple thing I’d ever known—I like who I like and I don’t like them because they are pretty. I like them because they are passionate and have happy smiles and are creative, and I like them because I like the way they see the world. I can like anyone I want, but I promise, I promise my twelve year old self that I won’t like them just because they are pretty because pretty doesn’t matter unless you are ready to love whatever makes them feel pretty.