Little Sister

Little Sister

My little sister is beautiful.

Not that she believes that, of course.

In her mind, why would she?

She is not the girl on the billboard,

the celebrity on the magazine cover,

or the model walking down the runway.

Because of the things that she isn’t,

my sister doesn’t realize the things that she is.

When I try to convince her otherwise, she deflects it.

“You look beautiful in that shirt.”

            “My arms are chubby.”

“Those jeans are perfect.”

            “My stomach pooches out.”

“I like the way you did your hair.”

            “I don’t think so, it makes my face look pudgy.”

She hears the results,

but doesn’t accept the verdict.

She sees, but won’t confirm it.

Little sister, how do I take this disease and remove it?

It is like a cancer inside your mind,

or even worse,

inside your heart.

This tumor, called society, is telling you that because

you are not the girl on the billboard,

or the celebrity on the magazine,

or the model walking down the runway,

that must mean

You

Are

not

Beautiful.

Little sister,

You are beautiful because you are not perfect.

No,

You are beautiful because there is not one other person in this world like you.

You are beautiful because your laugh makes others smile.

You are beautiful because your kindness helps others feel like they matter.

You are beautiful because your support can convince somebody that they can fly.

You are beautiful because your love warms everybody around you.

And, Little sister, most importantly, you are beautiful because everyday you tell me that I am beautiful.

My little sister is beautiful.

Now, only to get her to believe me.