Every curve of mine
Was made to fit a unique mould
That was made just for me.
Every fold and crevice
When I double with laughter
Tucks a away my prized memory.
Everyday, just like me
There are billion other shes
Who look into the mirror shyly,
Longing to change her thighs
Or the colour of her skin or eyes.
To her I say even Aphrodite
Was tainted with scars,
And to her critics I politely ask
"Did we ask for your opinion?"
If not, then who are you to say
That her beauty is wrecked.
Cause we know she's pretty perfect.
YOU ARE READING
Still, a thousand leagues to go...
PoetryPoetry is the most constructive conduit to let out your feelings, My pain, anger, hurt and joy... Previously known as 'Verity'
