I have many names.
Some call me Aphrodite or Venus,
But you know me as Beauty.

Don’t listen to what others say.
I am not vain,
Only aware I am what God wanted in Eden.
Am I wrong for enjoying what I was handed?

I change from place to place,
But Americans think they know me best.
Here I am blue eyes clearer than the Heavens.
I am as white as a paper doll,
And I tell little girls they should have my perfectly pale pigment.
My figure is as full as Greed’s wallet,
Clothed by the robes of the divine.

You see me on magazines telling you how I lost weight,
A distorted image smiling back at you.
Even I am not good enough for some people.
I look to a new diet
Wanting to see my stomach tuck in on itself
And for my arms to be thin enough
To escape the straight jacket their hypocrisy put me in.
Even I am not good enough for some people.
All I want is to be good enough.

My dress means I am a “whore.”
My sweater means I am a “prude.”
I look in the mirror, but nothing is reflected,
Because beauty really is fake.
My only images are manipulated photos.

In the end even I don’t know what beauty is.