I'll never be beautiful. Never. I'm too weird. I'm too ugly. I'm too pale. I'm too tall. Never beautiful. I can't sing like an angel. My fingers twitch too much to play an instrument. I'm an average runner. I am nothing. NOTHING. Freak. Ugly. Stupid. I'll never be beautiful.
I'm too weird. I don't share the same accent as every one else, I don't have long flowing hair like every other beautiful girl. I'm too weird.
I'm too ugly. I don't have perfect features or innocent girl next door features. I have curves, but not perfect hour-glass curves or perfect sweet hometown curves. I'm too ugly.
I'm too pale. I don't have tanned to perfection skin that lets off a healthy glow. I have sickly pale skin that looks as if I had never stepped foot in the sun. I'm too pale.
I'm too tall. I don't have that perfect hieght that makes me only an inch shorter than every other guy around. I have inches over every guy, making them look up to me. I'm too tall.
I'M NOT BEAUTIFUL.
~Rogue
They had found her with her wrists slit and those three words sliced into her left arm. No one knew what to say, no one knew if they could speak. Blood soaked into her green sheets, making them look more like a murder scene. But in retrospect it was a murder scene. How many times had they told her that she looked cute today? How many times had they complimented her on hair? How many opprotunities had been missed in the past?
They could have saved her. Two telepaths. They had the world's greatest telepath living in the mansion and yet no one saved her. How many times had they felt a wave of depression flow off of her? How many times had they spoke with her mentally and felt a aura of self-hatres? How many times had they missed the opprotunities to save her?
Because she wasn't right. She was beautiful. It was them who were the ugly ones.
