Ruffled, vibrant curls of gold,
Eyes of ocean, bright and bold,
Breezes seeping through the strands,
Which are twirling ‘round her hands,
Smile like sunshine, warm and kind,
Love and laughter intertwined,
Voice like petals, soft and sweet,
Nicest girl you’ll ever meet,
Yet, if you look through her eyes,
Your curls you hate, your smile despise,
Why are our people trained this way?
The truly beautiful see gray
When all their colors shine and glow,
From ear to ear, from head to toe,
But all they see is black and white,
How come we’re taught to think that’s right?
Why can’t we live in truth and peace?
Enjoy each dimple, furrow, crease?
Each birthmark, freckle, speckle, taint?
Why must we coat ourselves in paint?
Each tiny blemish we disguise,
We hate our hair, we hate our eyes,
We hate the gold, the ocean-blue,
We hate ourselves. Why is this true?
We frown at smiling, hate our teeth,
Our laughs, our true selves underneath
The paint, the artificial wall,
We think is prettier than all
The raw, real beauty we despise –
Our golden curls, our ocean eyes –
I will not stand to tumble down,
I beg you, smile! No need to frown,
You’re more attractive when you’re you,
Not what the others want you to
Take as your role, a twisted part,
To hide you when you fall apart,
To coat your tears in powder, dye,
When they’re the reason that you cry.
Society’s a wicked game,
It wants us all to look the same,
And we all do, because it works,
The world has wrecked our peaks, our quirks,
Sculpted our glee to pangs of hate,
Destroyed our power to create
Our ideal image of our kind,
But you must make us change our mind,
For how else will we all connect
If we have nothing to perfect?
How unintelligent you sound,
Society, you’ve only crowned
The pillars that support your weight,
You grin when we balloons deflate,
But is that truly what we want?
Each character a certain font,
On one big, air-losing balloon,
Flat notes in some old wretched tune.
The truly beautiful are those
Who open up, freely expose
Their inner spirits, inner stars,
The ones who don’t let you leave scars
On their ideal depiction of
That perfect look that we should love,
The look that tells you, “This is me,
This is what I will always be,
What I have been,
Though not stick-thin,
Or blond, or tanned,
Don’t wear one brand,
I’m beautiful because I’m who
I have, forever, wanted to
Display myself as to the world,
My sea eyes bright, my gold hair curled;
That may not sound the best to you,
But this is me, and this is true.”