She wears a pair of death traps,
with her blackened stockings.
She wears a pencil skirt,
that sits above her knees.
Her shirt sticks to her waist and above,
where the straps end The Gripper.
Her arms are as smooth as butter,
waxed to every end.
Her hair that sits on the top of her head
is layered through and through.
Makeup on fleek,
it brings out her features.
This is what they call perfect?
I think not.
Her feet are covered by a pair of sneakers-
the elastic of her socks over-stretched.
She wears a pair of skinny jeans,
that seem a size-too-big.
Her shirt is loosely hung over her shoulders,
covering her completely.
Arms are shaved,
yet show slight incompletion.
Her messy hair tied into a ponytail,
that falls down to her back.
A broad smile that stretches across her face,
really shows a lot.
This is what should be called perfect.
Yes, it should.
A/N: Hello! This is honestly my worst poem. Idk what you think. :P
