Who am I?

Im the girl with the baggy eyes and depressive nights,

everyone thinks my eyes are too big, and too strong to be closed after such a fight.

Im the girl with blotchy, scarred skin, and stress that erupts on my face, I can only see,

everyone thinks its the plane of a perfect dark caramel, flower petal.

Im a girl with diseased and swollen fingers that sometimes hurt to move,

everyone sees me draw my curtains and my maps with them, so I guess they’re just fine.

Im a girl with long ripped hair, hair that changes every few years, and fails to stay,

everyone sees the dark shiny locks that I play with like a toy,

                   only because I don't know how else to cope with my insecurities.

Who am I?

Sometimes, I call myself ugly, but I really don’t think I am.

Sometimes, I think I’m pretty, but I don’t know how much I am.

But I realize I do not need to know, because Im fine just the way I am.