#indonesian model

Let’s take a moment to bow our heads in the remembrance of how I just slayed every hoe ever. Every troll. Every fat-shamer. Every Muslim in Detroit and abroad that likes to keep up with my life but talk that stuff behind closed doors. The racists and bigots that say I’m oppressed because I’m visibly Muslim. Oppression? Where? Old co-workers that discouraged me from pursuing my creative endeavors. My ex-boss that told me that I was pretentious and intimidating and tried to get me fired. Yeah, but she got fired instead Look at Gawd. My ex, who was embarrassed of me. Tried to make me seem like I was less than a Muslim and downplay my accomplishments. Hiiiiiii A family member who recently told me that she ain’t feel sorry for me when I tried to express my pain and current mental status.
To every person who said I was extra, too much, too loud, too fat, too black, not black enough, or whatever…I may be broke, borrowing clothes from friends for shoots, bi-polar with several complexes but I’m here. I’m still here. Trying a little bit every day to be better than I was yesterday. And, yeah, sometimes I fail miserably. But, I’m still here. Standing tall. And slaying. *Sips tea* @Remy_me

IG: Lvernon2000
www.beautyandthemuse.net

Imperfection.
That word never existed for me. I had to be the one who over-achieved, got the highest score, dressed the best, was always the first. I’d almost kill myself just to reach a goal. Then when I got it, it meant nothing to me and I was on to the next.
Imperfection meant failure. That I’d lost control. And control was something I yearned for. Meant you weren’t good enough if you weren’t perfect.
Looking back, I wished someone told me that there was beauty and understanding in imperfection. Asymmetry. That it was perfectly normal to not be perfect. And that I was just chasing my own tail, became a hamster in a cage in a plastic wheel trying to attain something that could never be. @flossyssuitcase

IG: Lvernon2000
www.beautyandthemuse.net