If women are not bound by their waistlines,

Then why do girls’ eyes droop at the sight of scales?

More like blooming tulips than heady wines,

Girls blossom, but time weaves tarnishing trails

Old wives tales sing of young love and beauty,

And often berate the heavy and aged

Thus, she assumes her filial duty

And stands on her podium, no matter how caged

But this mortality is but skin deep,

Her image reflecting all the clearer,

Heart no longer allowing fears to creep, 

Eyes opened to the lies of this mirror.

In times when beauty is measured with fears,

In time, women will not weigh their own tears