We ain’t picture perfect, but we worth the picture still.

I wanted to include a picture of me in a post that’s coming up.

Each time I took a picture, I was rather disappointed with what I saw.

The irony is, the post was a reminder to smile. I tend to think I don’t care about my image, or how I look. Clearly, this is wrong. I do. I just haven’t accepted the way I look, yet.

I remembered this lyric, then.

We ain’t picture perfect, but we worth the picture still.

I felt inclined to reflect on my image.

My cheeks are constantly rosy.
My curly hair is outlandish.
My crooked smile is, well, crooked.
My birthmarks, awkwardly placed around my face.

As I write this out, I realize it’s these flaws that make me unique.

It’s cliché. But, it’s the truth after all.

I find it particularly out of place to reflect on a subject matter such as beauty. As a man, it’s a rare point of discussion. I assume other men have got this down pat, and are secure in their image. Perhaps they share the same sentiments I do. Either way, I’m not scared to admit it.

I don’t have social media such as Instagram. Thus, my image isn’t, and can’t be, based on other people’s perceptions. How many likes I get on a particular image doesn’t define whether I’m comfortable in my own skin – but perhaps it did at one point.

This post is how I get comfortable.

I don’t identify with how I look, and I don’t let it define me. I’m uncharacteristically me, though, and I’ll continue to carry myself with confidence.

I’ll have curly hair long after it’s out of style. My cheeks will continue to be red. I’ll continue to smile, albeit crookedly. My birthmarks will continue to be beauty marks.