Ain't you pretty.

yes, you is.
and on the inside, you're bloody and dark.

I had, for a long time, a goal of growing up to be pretty. When asked I would say I wanted to be happy, and I wanted to know I was happy. To be loved, to be confident in my life and my achievements.. and my skin. We- as girls, but guys have it to a lesser extent- get taught, in sneaky ways, that you deserve stuff when you look better. Attention, respect, clothing, work. "She looks so put together. She must be capable." There's an idea that by putting on the best clothes and the right makeup, Things will happen. You will meet the guy or girl. You will be paid attention to. You will get a free drink. You will have a good night.
I wanted to look loved in pictures.

All the anti-aging creams promise that you'll grow up to be good looking. Not just good FOR YOUR AGE.
I heard once, from The Frenchman, that a woman when young needs to be beautiful to be loved, and when she old, she needs to be loved to be beautiful.

When my boyfriend dumped me but I continued to see him, I didn't think I could do any better. He was muscular and manly and had the greenest eyes and the longest lashes. He was physically attractive enough that through our university he wasn't known simply by his first name, but "Hot [first name]." He didn't get a degree from that college.
He wants his own children because he thinks genetics are the best he can give to them, not just the best but ALL he has to give to them.
I suppose he has this five year plan of becoming a deadbeat dad.
And you know what? he has bad teeth and bad skin and he is of average height.

Someone will always be hotter than you.

When I continued to see this ex-boyfriend, he had stopped saying "I love you" some four months prior, but in bed he would tell me how beautiful he found me. Perfect, he would say. Gorgeous.

The curve of your hip. The narrow of your waist, the glow of your skin.

I have never been so sad or so angry about the way I looked, after having been complimented.

Because what good did it do me? Being pretty? "Way to luck out with genetics you didn't have a choice in, then live a comfortable enough life that you didn't starve or eat yourself into obesity. Also, good job not suffering any major accidents. NICE EFFORT." Big fucking whoop. Being pretty didn't get him to love me any more than having a college degree got him to respect me. He called me beautiful when he wasn't thinking and when he was angry told me to "get a car and a real job."

grow up.

grow into something more than you were.

I built my whole world around someone and watched it all dissolve like so much wet tissue paper.

But this weekend, with the boy I woke up next to, he called me beautiful and I wasn't sad, or angry, or upset.

I just didn't believe him.