My soul is like an elegant white dress; pure, beautiful, and confident. In the past people would decorate it with bows and pearls by giving me compliments. Now cruel words and statements forever stain my gown. The crimson on my sash is from being called a low-life. The one on my corset was from being known as geek. I treated you well, but I still have that yellow mess from being called selfish. My favorite is that patch of rose pink from being called ugly that is in between the green stain for being fat and the long trail of orange for being mental. The most unforgettable marking is that patch of mud for being unlikable. Or maybe it’s that mix of blue and green for being crazy? My biggest mistake in taking care of my dress was forgetting that it didn't matter what other people thought, because to me it was a tie-dyed hot mess.