The City Discotheque.

I grew up being told I was ugly and fat. Fifth and sixth grade was a burden, for I was constantly called "gross", and I never really understood what I had done wrong. I guess my parents never really knew about it. I was bullied every day, and every day I had to pretend like it didn't hurt at all, like I didn't hear those words. But it did, and I did, and I think the pain will never go away.

Today, I was told I wasn't pretty enough for The City—a nightclub—, and that the fact that I was even allowed inside was merely an act of pity. I was just trying to help my friend get inside, and in return I got bitch-slapped across the face. "There are cameras that tell us who gets inside and who doesn't" said the Bouncer, "and I got you inside as a favor, because They didn't want to let you in." Oh, alright. I just pretended, once again, like I didn't care. Like it didn't hurt. 

Dear whoever's behind that motherfucking camera:

I am an aspiring civil engineer. I rocked my fucking calculus test. YOU will not tell me what I am worth. I have the greatest attitude towards people, or at least I try to, I help whenever I can, I spend my nights reading, trying to make sense out of the world, trying to understand why some people can't see beyond the physical qualities of some, trying to live other people's lives through written stories. I am a great daughter, great with dogs, great with passion, and a fucking amazing person. 

I am not going to cry anymore. I promised myself a while ago that I wouldn't cry myself to sleep ever again. Your nightclub isn't worth it. Those people who called me names aren't worth it. No one who doesn't really see the real me isn't worth it. I don't need you. I'm too busy trying to be the best version of myself. 

So take that tiny dick of yours, and go fuck yourselves. 

Sincerely yours, 
The Girl With the Messy Hair