“Am I Pretty?!”

A stroll through the land,
Of the past,
Heart beating fast,
All eyes follow me,
Is there nothing else to see?

Am I pretty,
Am I pretty?
Words pounding fiercely,
Getting down to the nitty-gritty.

What is it you behold?
Can’t be good with looks so cold,
The answer is one I cannot fathom;
Question is am I a beauty,
Or merely a travesty?

The world yearns for a Barbie,
Yet she is a woman in the mirror,
I’ll never see,
Not that I desire to be,
An unfeasibly beautiful lady.

Salacious eyes of a gentleman,
Gaping upon my petite exterior,
Deeply inside feeling greatly inferior,
As I enter a room,
With hips that sway,
Only entranced by my lovely perfume,
Not by the words my heart could say.

Am I pretty,
Am I pretty?
He only wishes to touch me,
Oh, how his eyes did speak,
Leaving me nauseated,
And immensely weak.

Questioning who I am,
Forced into a double life,
Stunned, scared, and laughing,
Neck brushed by a knife,
At the thoughts of being his little toy,
With eyes begging me to please,
Oh, Joy!
If I say yes,
He’ll give me a squeeze.

The caress of his hands,
Shall make me feel desired,
Oh my!
Yet my yearnings do not consist,
Of car windows full of mist,
Or such libidinous palms,
Upon my soft skin,
Screaming for love from chambers within!

Am I pretty,
Am I pretty?
Searching for salvation,
To heal my flaming wounds,
With dreams of adoration,
To distract me of this void,
Ghosts of neglect,
Photographs of a little boy,
Reminding me in certain minds,
I shall never achieve pretty,
Or merely be a toy!

Do I like what I see?
You tell me!
All I ever yearned for,
Was to feel pretty!
Please reveal to me,
If being beautiful shall ever be,
My reality!