would you still love me if i wasn't soft and beautiful?

i hate feeling like i can't move my own mountains,
like i am waiting to hand someone else the shovel
or whatever the **** people use to move mountains.
i hate how much i hate my sweat,
i want it to pour, i want to drown in my stick and my stink
but instead i will smell like baby powder and cocoa butter kiss and va va vanilla.

my nails are short and a little bit yellow
i wear baseball tees and flannel and i can drink like a man

but my doors are still being opened,
old men still love me,
my mountains
are all still being moved
without me