she is never told she is beautiful enough for it to count or stick in some anchoring way you cant see under her skin, inside her brain black, rolling, grey if you knew, what then would you say
too small her upper lip kink of hair too much frizz not quite hourglass shape pudge of tummy give or take thighs too big to make you breath more cellulite she doesnt need too much hair, hair everywhere uneven portions she only stares the mirror you might want to break she understands that its okay these things you could obsess she merely looks at them with bliss