since when does life have to be aesthetic?

since when does life have to be aesthetic?
my days drag on like cold maple syrup, as
drab and colorless, as
boring and colorless.
sometimes i convince myself
that i'm in love with life.
but with one click, one picture, on post
i'm as equally convinced that my life is seemingly nothing.
i don't have sparkly eyes, freckled nose, or perfect brows.
i don't have a toned body, re-post-worthy outfits, or a partner.
i don't have rising suns and coffee, besties who get me food,
a "ride-or-die", incredibly organized notes, or a thousand shoes.
i'm so incredibly average.
like a B- on a test, warm water, or unsweet tea.
i may have a purpose, but nobody cares.
nobody thinks it's cute, relatable, or "likeable".
clouds of depression rain down upon me,
drowning, suffocating, drenching me
with images of girls who are living their best life
with quotes and posts about best friends--
there's nothing aesthetic about being average,
so i guess i'm nothing.