You like me, you think I'm smart, funny etc. But I don't look tasty to you.

This used to bother me when it happened. It happened a lot. All the time. But this time, I'm resigned. I just think, yeah, you and the rest of the world. I'm still sad about it, but I'm not angry.

I want to ask you about it, but I don't know what that would accomplish. It would just cause awkwardness. And I would feel pathetic, and you would be on the spot, and feel trapped.

And then we'll stop talking and it'll just be an uncomfortable memory.

My talent and my good heart mean nothing at all to you. That's the saddest thing in the world.

I have a sunburn on my face. I'm such a white girl.