It hurt when I looked at that picture
I both loved and hated it.
It was me, but different.
It was me, without the acne or freckles.
It was me, but pretty.
I was hurt that you'd done it,
even though I was grateful.
You'd checked the box on the school
picture form that said to remove blemishes.

You did this without asking what I wanted.
You did this because you knew I was insecure
and you just wanted to help me feel beautiful,
but it made me feel as though 
I wasn't good enough in your eyes,
it made me feel ugly.

I loved her smooth, pretty face,
I loved that I could pretend she was me,
I loved that perfect version of me,
because maybe one day,
I could be pretty like her

But I also I hated that girl, the one in the picture,
who looked so much like me, just a prettier version,
I hated her because I wasn't her.
I wanted to be her.
I wanted to be pretty.