"You march to the beat of your own drum, Lisa" that's something my mother always told me, and it's something that I both loved and hated to hear. I know I'm different. Sometimes I embrace that, explore it, make it grow--and sometimes I wish I was a tall, skinny blond with no intellect. Life might be easier--but it certainly wouldn't be as rich. It's funny how I see beauty in every one and every thing--except for in myself. There's a lot of things about myself I don't like, but years of therapy taught me not to speak of them, because spoken thoughts become real ones. My dark skin--everyone always thinks I'm "ethnic" or "exotic" and it's bothersome. Getting asked "what are you?" on a daily basis sucks. My hair--wild, big and curly and incapable of keeping a straight lock, especially in Halifax. My shoulders are wide. My legs are far too big. But, there are moments when I feel beautiful--sitting by the water front tonight, cross-legged on the ground just smelling my beloved ocean--I felt my own beauty. All of these things I hate on myself are slowly but surely becoming beautiful in their own way, and maybe one day--I'll find the boy that finds them beautiful, too.
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