Nothing is more flawless than being flawed.

For the freckles trickled upon my nose,

like sprinkles on a sundae,

connect the dots to define my beauty.

And the way my thighs move as I walk,

like a rhythmic melody,

show that I am blessed with food on my table.

The fingers I run through my hair stop in a knot,

like the one buried in my throat,

as I scan my body in the crystallized reflection.

And I throw my arm down,

as I toss away my doubt.

And that doubt grabs the tube of lipstick from the drawer,

and writes "you're worth it" on the glass.

 So, to the woman staring at the scale,

to the young girl pinching the skin on her abdomen,

and to every woman with faulty eyes

unable to see her astounding perfection.

Pull out your dictionary,

find the world of 'flawless',

and write your name.