The other day a boy told me that I was hot. I remember I felt really disgusted and ugly at that moment in time, and I can't understand why. Every fiber of me just seemed to scream no, he's lying, he's joking, he's making fun of you, and nothing i could say no nothing could convince me that maybe he was for real. Maybe I am pretty. Maybe I am. Maybe. Then you know, as I type this, i realize that I don't believe my own words, not ever, and I hate myself for it. It hurts like Prometheus to think that even when a boy calls me pretty I sit there and just feel like throwing up because Hell No It Can't Be True. ...why couldn't I just have smiled, and said thank you? ...why is it that more and more often these days, I only believe myself when I tell myself I'm beautiful, even knowing for sure that the reflection of my eyes in a mirror can warp what I see? I wouldn't wish for a different world. I like mine just the way it is, and yet, sometimes I wish I could truly accept it with more class.