I open the July issue of Vogue magazine and see the beautiful puppets in their tiny bathing suits and that gorgeous man by their side; all golden and flawless. I'm 15 years old and 145 pounds. It might not be so bad if those extra fat cells didn't swarm to my belly and legs. I go to the beach and see more beautiful girls walk by, dazzling the crowd as they pass. I hide behind baggy clothes and a bowl of ice cream; my best friends in ugly situations. I look in the mirror and I point out every tiny blemish, bug, and imperfection; my thighs touching, how easily I can grab at my stomach, the crookedness of my teeth that exists only in the glass that gazes back at me, but crosses my mind all the time. The list goes on and on and on. I hope to one day see myself as beautiful. Maybe then others will see it too. I hope on day I'll have the courage to wear something glamorous that makes every head in the room turn. I can be more than I am, and I hope to one day realize that when it comes to the "everyone is beautiful" rule, I'm no exception.