I stopped a girl at school one day
Just to tell her how pretty she looked
And a smile swept across her face.
She seemed surprised I’d ever say that,
As I am “flawless”.
I tossed my head back,
Laughed rigorously,
And pretended that the situation didn’t make me sad.
I told her I wax my upper lip
Because my pale white skin highlights my black hair
Perhaps a bit too much.
I told her my breasts haven’t grown since I was 12,
And I dye my hair deep red
Because I feared my black hair was too boring.
Not to mention my skin isn’t in its best condition
And blemishes pop up here and there.
I put unnecessary amounts of effort into keeping them to a minimum
Because I’m just sixteen
And they will never go away.
It’s not just my face, though,
It’s my back, arms and chest, too.
The blemishes are simply on parts of my body
That not everyone gets to see.
But those flaws are only skin-deep, I said,
I’m overly emotional.
I over-think and analyze,
Thus hurting people I don’t mean to hurt.
I’m often self-centred, too,
And forget the interests of others.
But for an analyst, I said,
I often forget to think a little harder about things.
I’m overly anxious and stressed out.
I want to change, but I never do.
I’m hardly serious about anything.
Never look into the mirror and cry.
You may not be flawless,
But neither am I.