“When you say that I am beautiful, please, tell me why. I don't want you to just say it to flatter me, or make me blush, it will work in your favor, sure, but if you're going to tell me that I am beautiful, make me believe it. Because, I wake up with myself every morning, and I know what my hair looks like, and I have probably seen the way my eyes look more than you have. I know how my eyebrows look, simply because I have refused to pluck them, my ears and nose are rather average, and I have memorized the small gaps and overlaps of my teeth, so I know what I look like, you don't need to remind me of my facial features, you're going to have to try a little harder. I know I talk with my hands, and I know I stutter from time to time, I trip when I walk, over nothing but my toes, and I bite my nails, did you know that? I pick at my cuticles when I am nervous and crack my knuckles in any emotional state. I probably giggle too much and smile way too often, and overuse the words, "I love you" are these things that make me beautiful, or just make me who I am? I don't know, you're going to have to make me believe it. I make things, out of junk and I cannot draw a simple stick figure, I spend way too much time writing, and not enough time talking, and I can't even whistle a short melody, let alone sing one. My heart is everywhere but beating inside my chest, and I look at world maps and think about the different faces in each different place and I wonder if these hearts feel worthy of love sometimes. Take a look at my thoughts, dig and dig and dig deeper, do you still think I am beautiful? Why? ”