The measurements of perfection
The ideal hourglass figure;
Big boobs, skinny waist, wide hips
5'8, a stomach so flat you can use it to draw straight lines on your paper,
luscious hair thats always in place,
A face so beautiful even the angels from up above get jealous
Strutting across the floor like a runway model, all eyes on her
She curves her lumpscious pink lips into a smile,
adding her sparkling white teeth to her perfection
How am I suppose to compare?
All I got is my 5 foot 6 height, the terrifying discovery
that every time I sit down, I have more rolls than a bakery,
A gap in my teeth that shows every time I open my lips,
lips that are scarred from a tendency to chew on them,
Acne covering my face like a mask, oily glands opening wide
If I were to walk across a runway, I would fall flat on my face
I sit in the back unnoticed, while she sits up front,
shining bright like a diamond.
How are we suppose to compare?
Society believes in the illusion of this perfection, beauty
How are real women suppose to feel beautiful
when all we can think about is how we are perceived?
How we can’t go shopping for clothing without thinking
the fitting room attendant is calling you a fat pig in their pretty little heads?
How can society put this weight on our shoulders,
telling us to lather our faces with expensive beauty products and not eat?
But the main question should be why we care what others think?
Because we are beautiful
Each and every one of us,
36-24-36 is NOT real beauty.