She is the star. The perfect clothes, perfect hair, perfect car. The one everyone loves, everyone copies, and everyone wants to be. When girls see her, they think to themselves, “Why can’t that be me?” But she has a secret that she has hidden beneath her gorgeous smile; she hasn’t felt whole in a long while. She feels alone and lost. Does anyone truly know what perfection costs? Well, it’s a high price, and she’s forced to pay it. No more happiness, you’ll just have to fake it. So she sits in her room, locks the door, and thinks to herself, “I don’t know who I am anymore.” She takes out the eraser, brings it to her arm, and becomes detached from herself as she commits self-harm. When she is done, she looks at her fresh scars in the mirror, and faces the cold hard truth. Voice cracking, she whispers to herself, “No one will ever love you.”
And the whispers scream, “You’ll never be good enough.”





















And the whispers scream, “You’ll never be good enough.”

She sits by him in chemistry, wishing that’s what they had; the shy girl crushing on the varsity star. Every time he ignores her she thinks, “Am I really that bad?” So in the morning, she piles on makeup, trying to hide everything “ugly”. But at school, he still never notices her. And she cries to herself, “No one will ever love me.” She looks herself in the mirror, picking out every disgusting flaw, and whispers, “Will you ever be pretty at all?”
And the whispers scream, “You’ll never be good enough.”



















And the whispers scream, “You’ll never be good enough.”

She can kick, and flip, and twirl. We’ve all wanted to be that cheerleader girl. All the boys want her, that cute little blonde. But what she thinks of herself is not that fond. Her legs are like sticks; at least that’s what the public sees. But in the mirror, all she makes out is a fat beast. So she goes to the bathroom, the third time that day, locks the door, and pukes all her problems away. She thinks she is disgusting, with just her to blame. She doesn’t wear shorts or tank tops; she is so ashamed. So she wipes her mouth as she looks in the mirror, and whispers to herself, “Maybe people could love you if you were skinnier.”
And the whispers scream, “You’ll never be good enough.”






















And the whispers scream, “You’ll never be good enough.”

We all have problems, scars, and insecurities piled up layer by layer. There are times when we all stop and think, “Does anyone really care?” We all face the mirror and whisper out our flaws. We all wonder if anyone loves us at all. We have to realize we are all beautiful, what is ugly is the society we live in. But no matter how loud your whispers scream, I’m begging you…












Please don’t give in.