Mirror Voice

When I look in a mirror,

I don't see that girl in the movies,

the beauty all the guys are after,

or even the nerd, hiding a banging body

and gorgeous eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses,

who becomes the beauty by the end.

When I take off my glasses,

all that is accomplished is the blurring

of the body I was born with

and my small, muddy eyes in the mirror.

I'm not the girl next door, 

the Twiggy-like model,

the Beyonce-like singer,

or the Olivia Wilde-like actress. 

And maybe that's all some see,

the girl who isn't worth a double-take.

That's all I might see too,

if it bothered me that I'm not J-Lo's body double.

But that girl in the mirror,

with the frizzy hair and the huge hips,

winks back at me instead. 

I don't have a Minaj behind,

I have mine, big, round, and beautiful to me.

I don't have Seyfriend eyes,

I have mine, small, dark, and sultry to me.

I don't have Lawrence lips,

I have mine, pursed, plump, and perfect to me.

I don't have Klum legs,

I have mine, tall, thick, and sexy to me.

I'm not a creation, a mash-up of others,

but an individual body, one that can't be replicated.

I am beauty, I am strength, I am me.

Try to tell me otherwise, sorry, I'm not listening,

the girl in the mirror is talking louder than you

and she thinks I am exactly who I am supposed to be,

and to her I am flawless.


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