If women are not bound by their waistlines,
Then why do girls’ eyes droop at the sight of scales?
More like blooming tulips than heady wines,
Girls blossom, but time weaves tarnishing trails
Old wives tales sing of young love and beauty,
And often berate the heavy and aged
Thus, she assumes her filial duty
And stands on her podium, no matter how caged
But this mortality is but skin deep,
Her image reflecting all the clearer,
Heart no longer allowing fears to creep,
Eyes opened to the lies of this mirror.
In times when beauty is measured with fears,
In time, women will not weigh their own tears