Undefined

Don't tell me I'm beautiful. I have already heard the word rubbed raw across the flesh od so many girls before me; thrown at them like rocks that beat the skin of those we do not understand.

"You are beautiful!" we yell with such contempy. "Why won't you just believe me, you're beautiful!"

It is not a compliment. It is a victory march of my own self sacrifice. "You're beautiful." we say through gritted teeth. "You're beautiful." we spit out through tears, looking at a reflection we've learned to hate. "You're beautiful."

Don' tell me I'm beautiful. A word like that floats on the surface, give me something with depth.

Tell me I'm intelligent. 

Tell me I'm courageous. 

Tell me my voice is sweeter than strawberries. 

Remind me that my hands have helped flowers grow, painted the ocean, and captured the sky in my phone. Assure me that with a mind like mine, I can change the world. 

Don't tell me I'm beautiful. I've felt the word splatter against me enough for a lifetime. I am better than the "beautiful" that slips from your lips. 

I am the ocean, 36,000 feet in depth. There are parts of me none will ever see. I am outer space, infinate i your search. 

I am not simply your "beautiful". These words do not define me.