Is it the long straight or thick poofed hair?
My big hips and thick thighs print out in everything I wear.
My black shines in the sun, just like my mom's.
But what is beauty?
Is it the way I look or dress?
Or is it the way I embrace my looks?
The mirror lies to me each passing day, as I grow older.
Most days it says I'm beautiful, while other days I'm not.
At times I believe the mirror.
It has watched me grow into a woman,
while the young energetic girl drowns in its arms.
Beauty is me
I am beautiful,
and So are you.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry's Soft Kisses
PoetryThis book is a collection of poems, I've written over the years. Some of which or both new and old. Thank you for reading, voting, and commenting on my poetry. Much appreciation, these are expressed feelings which I believe are art on their own. I h...
