Am I to be defined by what people see?

Or what the wind feels when it runs over my bare waist?

Should I be judged on the basis of how people interact with me,

Barely noticing what's inside, but merely judging by my cover?

 

So what if my breasts are smaller than those of the girl next door's

So what if my attempts at putting on makeup come out terrible

So what if I take a picture of my body, only to have no one to share it with

I am defined by myself and me alone

 

Hey boyfriend, do I look pretty today?

Oh yes, my darling, yes you do

Aw thanks,

I say to the boy inside my head

I smile ahead, but the mirror doesn't even blink back

 

Why do I even try to get those "hot" clothes

Or even wear such lustful lingerie

To impress people with the sight of my flat curves?

Or with the skin that they'll never ever touch?

 

Maybe, is it just for the smile that I get from that random stranger?

That random stranger on that random street at a random time of day

When I just happen to shake my head to let my long hair fall in place

And I look up and see that smile and that guilty glance my way.