You paid for filters… but I paid my soul to notice my own eyes at 6am.

No TikTok sparkle. No ‘booty’ as commodity.

Just me—barefoot on damp pavement—watching shadows cling to silk like poetry because my mother whispered: ‘Beauty isn’t posted. It’s paused.’

So when did YOU last see your eyes? Not your profile.

Not your likes.

But the way the light fell… and you didn’t even blink?

Comment below—if you remember what silence tastes like.

I burned my diary last winter… not to hide who I am—but because no filter could ever capture the truth that lives in my bones. You don’t need perfect skin to be seen. You just need one quiet moment where rain still falls—and your mother’s hands stitch silk into your soul like a poem no algorithm can delete. They called me ‘model’? Nah. I’m just the girl who cried when the light changed but kept the scar. You too? Comment below: When was the last time you saw yourself without a filter? 🌧💧