I put on my make-up and pick out my shoes;

the perfect pair to match my shirt.

Because that was what I was taught to do

In a World where looks are what seem to work.

They say my hair is much too short

and my jeans too tight for my own good,

Then call their criticism support

and saying what they think they should.

I do not see what I am doing wrong

and I am sick of wearing a mask.

Because deep inside I am very strong

and I will let it show in complete at last.

Behind this mascara I have eyes

that go deeper than the color green, 

they actually look quite old and wise

and the eye liner takes away what they really mean.

Beneath these locks of gold

I have a mind with which I think, 

my own thoughts appearing very bold

where individuality only sinks.

And behind this smile pearly white

and these lips so rosy red,

lie words on the tip of my twisted tongue, having to fight

to be heard or even said.

With my hand I can do more than

 wave and be pretty for another's eyes

I can create art with these hands

that really originated from what was inside.

These feet do not just stand

to walk the path created expectations,

they are very similar to the hands

in that they do have personal goals and motivations.

They are tired of sprinting to a place

they do not wish to go.

Please understand I am more than a face, 

and want to be treated as so!

I am sorry for all I have put up with, 

though not for what I have done, 

for the moment I started being myself

the battle was already won.