My eyes do not “light up like the sunlight upon water,”

My complexion is too blue and white and every girl is hotter,

Society does not reward small chests like mine with glamour,

My body and my face will not cause anyone to be enamored.

And though I’m slender, which must be a plus, my feet are all too wide,

My stature short, my stomach soft, my spine I try to hide.

My knees are odd, my eyes look tired, my lips improve with gloss,

I paint perfection on as if otherwise, I’d be a loss.

I don’t have the option to be natural anymore,

Since from the age of ten I had to plaster every pore.

I promised myself that I didn’t fall for any of these lies,

But here I stand, a modern fool who thought that she was wise.

The worst part of being beautiful is that you’re never just quite there,

You always have a weakness, you constantly compare.

Am I up to code? Do I deserve to be demolished

Or do I still have the chance to be stretched, squeezed and polished?


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