chapter+6

Sally Minerva Writes Poems

She has an eternal saddness, a neverending pool of depression that she shouldn't feel. She feels she doesn't deserve who she has, but feels she deserves more of what she has. She doesn't hold herself in high regards, no confidence. “Doesn't like herself” she says. I ask why her answer? Not pretty enough, not skinny enough, not hot enough, there's always someone better. My answer? She doesn't need to be the skinniest, the prettiest, or the hottest, and there's no one better than her, and yet she tosses my opinion aside, a fragile plaything of peoples' opinion, of the “in crowd” she's supposed to be part of. To me there is no “in crowd,” there no ones the prettiest, no ones the skinniest. I look at the person on the inside, not the flesh on the outside. No one should care what others think. We are what we make ourselves, yet she's unable to realize this these are the problems of a deep heart in a shallow mind. Jackson Wolph