'I Don't Want to be Beautiful.'

Background-- [link]
Artist-- [link]
Picture Frame -- [link]
Artist-- [link]
Bonsai Tree-- [link]
Artist-- [link]
Ballerina-- [link]
Artist-- [link]
Blue Haired Model-- [link]
Artist-- [link]
Feather Model-- [link]
Artist-- [link]

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((First off, this is my first ever manipulation with photoshop. It's not great. I'm testing the waters.))


"Stacy ran into her room, the echo of her heels resounding through the entire house, followed by silence. Her mother was out again, one more party to show off the pictures of her daughter, trying to get a better paying agent. Her stomach growled, but she knew she wouldn't eat. Her mother would flip if she found out she ate. Especially what she wanted to. Stacy craved a chocolate bar so bad it hurt. But no.. 'Too many calories! You'll gain weight!' With her mother's voice in the young model's head, the tears fell across blushed cheeks, more make up on than Lady Gaga. Again, more of her mother's work. Luckily, she wasn't old enough to be a nude model. No doubt that would be on her agenda too if Mom had her way. But she would never let her see her thighs. They were covered with unsightly scars from the same knife that she now pulled from the upper drawer of her massive closet. Dropping her bag, she sat on the bed as her fingers shook, the metal glinting off of the sunlight that streamed through the room's window. Almost done.. she thought as she removed the shorts she had chosen today. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she drew the blade across delicate skin, angry red blood popping up from the scratches that speckled her leg. As she did so, she began that daily chant that was her little rebellion against the life her mother had made for her.

I don't want to be beautiful."




(I Made this because I'm overweight, but I always hate on the skinny girls, the girls I envy, the models, etc. But when I was talking to a friend of mine, I found out she herself was a model, a little size zero girl. But she hated it. It opened my eyes.)