Often uncomfortable in my
own skin,
looking into the mirror of
society
with a reflection of
disgust;
I am imperfect
My body has curves where
there shouldn’t be
and my face is spotted
with stubborn blemishes;
I’ll paint over them with
a brush,
hide behind a mask of
concealer and cover-up,
and repeat to myself every
day
that I am beautiful;
I am beautiful.
But tomorrow,
if I have a daughter,
I swear to God
I’m gonna make sure she
knows
she’s beautiful
because she was made in
His essence.
I’m gonna make sure she
knows
that she doesn’t have to
be
some airbrushed
stick-skinny big-breasted blonde-haired blue-eyed Barbie,
because Barbie is a girl
who has an eating disorder
and can’t walk upright;
Because unlike Barbie
whose life’s in plastic, she was made from this earth,
and she is beautiful.
So for her, today,
I will embrace my curves
and I will wear my
stubborn blemishes
like trophy scars
of the war
I survived with beauty.
