Anyway, I'm self-conscious. I have some major body issues. Stretch marks, too big of torso, pasty skin, hyperhydrosis. I know no one wants to hear me gripe and complain and list all my insecurities, so I'm sorry I had to sneak up on you like that. Ever since having a baby, I've been trying desperately to get my college body back. I've learned I have to work 150% as hard to weigh 150% as much. I try to log 30 miles a week, whether it be walking or running. At first, it was all in
So I'm not a ten, or even a nine or eight. Not to most people, anyway; but I am to Steve (probably an eight, but anywhere in the top three numbers will do for me). And when he tells me I'm so pretty, who am I to question him? So yeah, I'm not perfect. Who is? I don't want my insecurities to lead me into some plastic surgery marathon like Heidi Pratt, anyway. What I want is what I already have: a man who thinks I'm beautiful right now. And sure, I'll still rub some stretch mark cream on my stomach when I finally find it again in the bottom of our cupboard (that shit doesn't work anyway), and I'll still get off my lazy behind and step onto that treadmill, but even if I didn't, he'd love me.
I don't need everyone to think I'm beautiful, just the one guy who I think is.
She likes me for me
Not because I look like Tyson Beckford
With the charm of Robert Redford
Oozing out my ears
But what she sees
Are my faults and indecisions
My insecure conditions
And the tears upon the pillow that I shed
-"Hey Leonardo" by Blessid Union of Souls.