"What's your favorite part about you?"

Is the question I dread

And I every day I think about it

Until I go to bed.

 

More like: what would I change?

My too large nose?

It always stays there sqaurely

On my face red as a rose.

 

Or how about this?

My arms are long and gangly

And they just hang there useless;

Oh they make me so angry.

 

I laugh and think of another.

My too small breasts.

I turn to the side to get a better look,

Smaller than a bird's nest.

 

The longer I stare at the mirror

The longer the list grows,

And the more I hate myself.

And then a though crosses my mind.

 

John doesn't care.

He told me to never change.

He said I was perfect,

And to think different was strange.

 

So this is my answer: Everything.

There is nothing wrong with me,

I like my nose, my arms, my breasts.

If you say different I'll disagree.

 

If I could change one thing,

The "perfect woman" is what I choose

Because she is not real,

She's just society's excuse.