Why do you pull down that top?
Pull up that skirt?
And suck in your tummy,
when you look at me?
Why do you stand
with disappointment,
hoping to be someone you are not?

Why do you cover your scars
with expensive cream and concealer?
And press your rebellious hair to make it straight?
Why you smile your smile differently,
and wonder which one makes you more pretty?

Why do you
go far,
come closer,
turn back,
turn sideways, and
then turn front again?
Art of pleasing,
is not my forte.

What I show
will always be
a reflection of
how you see you.


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