Old converted dance room


My theatre room used to be the dance room.

As I walk in, I see the drama girls eyeing themselves in the mirrors.

The mirrors that were used to spot the imperfections

And now

It's used to "fix" the imperfect on these drama girls

These new girls

And they are all perfect.

Perfect dolls,

Perfect hair,

Perfect bodies,

but I am nothing in comparison.


I identify with the weird, loud, and obnoxious.

I am the identifier,

the sign.

The voice that shines out in a crowd,

the girl with curls that never fall perfectly.

But, why does it matter?

I guess I don't want to sound cliché by saying

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

but I am beautiful to me

and I don't want to identify with girls who glorify 

the superficial touch of a man who loves them for their appearance.

I am loved for my personality,

never being too joyous or 

too happy

or too sad.

Fierce in every facet of the word

I refuse to identify with the perfect.

I am not a criteria.

I'll shine with my own light


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