Beautiful Girl

I am a beautiful girl. I know this because of the breath taking amount of hate, scorn, envy, jealousy and out right hostility that is so generously hurled at me from all sides. The male desire for me is merely a different chapter of the same story about the woman forced into permanent loneliness by the rejection of her by other women. It's a sad and terrible story being beautiful and not that artificial, fake beauty that is easy to dismiss by those made ugly by their own insecurities and spiritual and intellectual laziness. I am sadly, a naturally beautiful woman with a ridiculous figure that is impossible to fit in clothes made for the average woman, a category of which I do not belong. I was born with every physical attribute that every society on earth deems as the ideal of desirability and it has brought me nothing but danger and isolation.

Let me start with my outer beauty so as to paint you a disturbing picture of the blessed curse that is loveliness. A full mane of thick, curly, dark hair and face that men have walked into doors looking at, enthralled with, light skinned, olive complexion and golden tan in the summer months, glowing with health and good genetics even in the thick humid August air. Let me describe my face; I have with embarrassing frequency been compared to Catherine Zeta Jones with sultry light brown eyes that have a mercurial quality to their color, always changing, shifting. High cheek bones and an aquiline nose and a chiselled jaw line with lips that make too many people stare for too long; lips that are in perfect proportion to the rest of my face, fully, with a cupids' heart and a pouty bottom lip.

A lamb in a world of predatory wolves; the mother of this beautiful girl is one of the wolves and would devour me first. I was sent out into the world with no idea of how beautiful I am and therefore without a single weapon to fend off the hordes and vultures that tore at my flesh and pecked at my spirit until I lay wasted in a gutter struggling to survive.

My beauty has taught me that people are banal and simple and motivated by primal instincts, still. Jealousy, envy, rage, violence, rape, predatory sexual urges, fear; apparently my very existence threatens their pile of goodies and I must be run off, attacked, killed. In the end human beings have barely evolved out of the cave where anything beautiful has become a threat to the demons that live in the ugly hearts of men and women. A short, chubby, gruff woman demands that she be treated with the same awe and worship that I am, she stomps around, hissing and seething with a sense of entitlement and anger which only serves to make her even uglier. As a beautiful woman, I am subjected to or privileged to, depending on your metaphysical stance, the ugliest face of humanity.

How many times I've cursed myself and wished for every beautiful feature to blur into average or even ugly just so I can be safe and befriended. The older I get, the more I ask, why shouldn't I be beautiful? Why can't I be beautiful and befriended, I have come to some startling conclusions; its not really my beauty that angers so many and inspires hunger in yet many others, its an inner light that comes into a dark room. It's the depth of my compassion and the endless flame of my intellectual curiosity and the kindness in my beautiful eyes and the tender mercy in my overburdened heart and the talent to be alive and in contact with the light. But the distorted features of the not beautiful are convinced they are reacting to my sexy eyes, sultry lips and perfect skin but, it is much deeper and more sinister than that, it's a dark realm of demands and hysteria and self-worship. Ultimately it is the curse of their own mediocrity and eager willingness to conform and prostitute themselves in the face of false dreams and prosthetic body parts with promises that ring a loud bell tolling 'lie!' The hand pulling the cord on the bell is you.

I want to stop cursing my beauty as others have cursed it and me; there is so very much about me that is beautiful.