Beautiful

A DJ asked me, “What if you woke up tomorrow, and you were beautiful? I mean really beautiful. You were 19, blonde, weighed 110 pounds, 5’11” and beautiful. What would you do?”

Maybe I mentioned this before. But I can’t let it go.

Once a friend was upset about going home.
Me: “Why?”
Her: “Because you can take a cab, but I can’t.”
Me: “Why not?”
Her: “Because I am really pretty. You are so lucky because nobody bothers you. I could get raped.”
Me: “I could get raped too!”
Her: “Marg. Ok, get real now. You would not get raped. They don’t go for girls like you.”
Me: “Like what?”
Her: “Whatever…”

I am beautiful now.
The DJ says, “You know what I mean.”

No. I don’t. Just because you are blind, and unable to see my beauty doesn’t mean it does not exist. I am so fucking beautiful I have players lined up around the block around the clock waiting for me, and they ain’t even getting any then. The line is just for the wristband yo! I am so fine, 17 year old girls draw my face on their hands and pledge undying love, and lean in too close to me to ask me if I want to buy some candy for their basketball team. “No sweetie. I already bought some from those boys over there, you know, the ones crying?”
I don’t like them too young. Tastes like pee.

I am so beautiful lots of gay men who would never consider being with a woman say, “I am a big ol queen but oh yeah – I would definitely get it up for her! Just so I could tell my boyfriend. He’d be so jealous!”

I flashed my vagina at a show in P-Town once, because I was supposed to sing, and my vocal range is somewhat limited, and a leatherdaddy in the audience said he got an erection, and had to question the integrity of his own existence. I don’t know whether to hug him or spank him.

I am pussy without borders.

My father told me that I was not a pretty girl and that I would need to develop a good personality in order to have people like me. My mother said, “Don’t worry, nobody hate daddy like I hate daddy.”

They were so relieved I got married, “SHE NOT GAY!!!”
Their proudest moment…A ticker tape parade and shit….

They don’t really know anything.

I have to believe that I am beautiful because if I don’t I will die. How I lived when I was convinced I was ugly: I starved myself, and fucking fucked as many people as possible- “This body is not going to last!”-but when I was fat again I was still doing it with anyone who was even vaguely interested because I thought I had to. I didn’t know I had the right to turn them down. It was my duty as an ‘ugly’ girl and I should be grateful for whatever I could get. All you had to do was ask me. It was like being a prostitute but I never made anything. I just wore myself down. With bad bad sex. Men who were way too old for me, and should have been arrested, but since it was consensual, I was saying yes to it, because I thought I deserved it. I was an accomplice, victim and perpetrator, and in the act it was like I was being punished for their crime. And that was terrible and lonely. So when some man says to me, “Don’t you wish you were beautiful?” those are like killing words. That’s my death, if I don’t pummel it into his soft, not yet completely formed radio disc jockey skull that I am already beautiful, and I wish for nothing, other than for him to go away.

I am so beautiful, sometimes people weep when they see me. And it has nothing to do with what I look like really, it is just that I gave myself the power to say that I am beautiful, and if I could do that, maybe there is hope for them too. And the great divide between the beautiful and the ugly will cease to be. Because we are all what we choose.

You can’t even get to me. I got special service, boundaries like the rings of Saturn. I am protected. I am four – five faggots deep all around me, who don’t see your name on the list, who will not let you in here looking like that, who will hold you in a cold, hard, unflinching stare or back hand compliment you until you cry. Yes I have security tighter than Ryan Seacrest’s asshole, at least as tight as his publicist says it is.

If you even had the courage to ask me out you would have to do it by mail, sent months in advance, on a single 5 by 7 sheet of eggshell vellum, signed in blood and sealed in gold and scented with a light mist of the new fragrance by Alan Cumming, just so I could throw it away without becoming repulsed.

8 thoughts on “Beautiful

  1. You are fucking gorgeous and you got me through high school. Those lonely years.

    That entry made me cry because that is how I felt, how I feel. Like all of us are full of beauty that falls on blind ignorant eyes.

    Fuck those fucking fuckers Margaret Cho!

  2. “I gave myself the power to say that I am beautiful, and if I could do that, maybe there is hope for them too. And the great divide between the beautiful and the ugly will cease to be. Because we are all what we choose.”

    Quoted for TRUTH! I know this entry is old but I dug it up because I it gave me strength 3 years ago and it gave me strength again tonight. You are a queen, Margaret, and will always be gorgeous.

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