She’s awful, isn’t she?
She lets the numbers on the tag of her dress, on the scale when she stands on it, on the English paper from last week define her existence.
Her personality has no real depth. She is shallow, because she is just a collection of consecutive numbers strung together in a bad representation of a true human being. She’s such a suckup, clinging too tightly to the people who pity her too much to say the truth.
She’s hardly even a 6/10 with makeup, without, she is much lower. She should stop acting so arrogant and finally admit that she’s not all that at all. Bring her down to her true level.
She’s awful, isn’t she?
She hardly even talks to us; she looks shy, but we know she secretly thinks she is better than us.
She’s not confident enough; hiding her face behind her hair makes her look unflattering. I thought confidence was the best colour on a woman?
She doesn’t need to hide behind so much makeup; I like the natural look. With all of this, she just seems fake.
I don’t like her.
Perhaps something about being a girl in a society where girls can only hurt other girls has changed us; or, perhaps more appropriately, nothing has changed at all since the beginning.
But how can I be the one to stay here, cleaning my wounds, when I know they hurt as much as those of my supposed opponents? Am I forever to be a combatant, a passive-aggressive warrior in this disgusting coliseum?
