The perfectly

   manicured hands,

The deviously

     arched brows,

The long

      black lashes to

             eyes the color

                   of sand.

The nails

    I’ve chewed in anxiety,

My sickly pale

   countenance,

The thin, tiny lashes

    of my muddy eye

           variety.

The perfectly slim

      body,

With tight scandalous

      clothes,

The long lanky legs

      Of a teen supermodel.

My flawed overweight

     form

With baggy, disheveled

     apparel

The short, stubby legs

      of a teen deform. 

But when I look in the mirror

and see my reflection,

my cloudy vision

Has never been clearer.

I may not be a beauty queen,

But I have twice as much heart--

and that is what makes me a work of art.