Pretty.

He told me I was pretty
I thought about how he hasn't seen the nitty-gritty.

My freckles were one thing he liked
I really wanted to be psyched.

He said my pale skin glowed in the sun
He couldn't see on it the damage that I've done.

He adored how I was short
My insides were screaming, "Mission abort!"

He told me I had rosy cheeks
And that he'd love to see my smile for weeks.

He told me I was smart
And that I had so big a heart.

The way he spoke with adoration
Sent through me a new sensation.

There was no mention of the fat on my body
Or if my clothes might seem gaudy.

He ignored the awkward way I'm built
And how I speak with a lilt.

He didn't see the scars or burns
Or the story of a girl who never learns.

Pretty, was the girl he saw
Yet I was only being me, true and raw.

So maybe the moral is for me to think
That I was not created just to sink.

Perhaps with his perspective now
To think myself pretty, I can allow.