StarryEyedDreamer314

Maiden's hair nor fair nor light; Lady's skin nor smooth. She wakes up with jolt and starts to run. For she has something to prove. To herself? Perhaps. Or maybe the world; She meanders to the mirror to clean her soul. Potions aplenty, purfume abound; She looks into the mirror and screeches a sound; How dare I wake up and perform such ritual; Poke and prod to be less individual. I tuck and I pull and I try to conceal. I toil and ponder; my dressing genteel! Every morn I have such patience. For I have just one plaiscence; To finally be able to leave the house Without tucking away my face, feeling like a louse. To hold my head high and shout, Aware and with laughter, not nary a pout, "Look at me world, for I am now proud! I like myself, and I will be loud. I do not hate my looks, my eyes, my grin. I like myself, to right down under my skin." I look up from my work with a sigh; Rolling my eyes, I know not to cry. All this work And all of this time And yet And --yet-- I'm still fucking ugly.