Masked feelings

I had always been told I was a beuty to behold.

I never really felt like that was true.

I had firey red hair, but it was turning a much grosser brown as I grow up.

I had several freckles, but they made me look super young, childish, and stupid.

I was tall, but that drew SOOO much attention to me.

I loved (past tense,) pinks, purples, and baby blues. That diddnt seem right, since I was 16, in HIGH SCHOOL!

My classmates diddnt like me. Their opinions of me, as a tall redhead, that wore pinks and blues, and tie dye short shirts, grew that I was a hooker, and, as the meangirls say, a attention seeker, and a, at worse call-so, a bon-fire stripper. They said bonfire, looking at my stomach.

Ill admit, I was a little hevier set, but WAS NOT FAT.

Actuly, I might be a little fat.

Just a little.

Wait, was I fat?

I looked down at my stomach.

I could see my toes, but thinking that seeing my toes could be a little wrong.

When I arived home, I ran to my room, and looked at myself through my mirror.

I looked disgusting.

To me, I looked like a cow.

I looked like a pig!

I looked like a fatso!

Then, I decided.

I was going to be SOOOOO skinny, the popular girls, and cheerleaders would be jealous of my boddy.

I was not going to eat, but one meal a day.