Her body is not yours to judge.
It's not a picture for you to smudge,
don't avert your eyes, but let them awe,
at her beauty, true and raw,
see her eyes so full of flame,
take away her coals of shame,
for perfection lies not in what's not there,
but herself, so blessed, precious and rare.
You mock her outline, filling and shade,
her confidence you destroyed, forbade,
left scars on her once smooth skin,
fought a fight she could never win,
she touched her hair, her stomach, her thighs,
started searching for her disguise,
protection against your angry streaks,
that left salt stained on her paled cheeks,
she bartered her joy for your approval,
knowing what she'd lose in the removal,
She checked the mirror every day,
and sobbed at what she knew you'd say.
Your comments chipped at her precious mind,
your opinion became what she defined,
too fat, too skinny, too short, too tall,
you pulled out the rug and let her fall,
what you lost when you stole her grace,
was the delightful smile to adorn her face,
you instead chose to provoke her tears,
and illuminate on hidden fears.
Beauty is not a gift but a skill,
its not packed into masks, fabrics and pills,
a shape is not a goal to keep,
or a prize to store and always reap,
your face is not something you need to change,
to come within perfection's range,
their words are not a truth been told,
but negativity, seething and cold,
stumble once, regain your stance,
and prove them wrong with just one glance.
Your body is not theirs to judge.
It's not a picture for them to smudge.
Don't heed their words just to be dutiful.
You are truly beautiful.
YOU ARE READING
Feathers: A Book of Poetry
Thơ caA pencil is the spotlight of a soul. It tells them its okay to overflow. It tells them ideas are art, and that the best ones are masterpieces. Feathers is a collection of poetry by me to convey the beauty and undeniable strife of the world, and emot...
