A life spent in the comparative
Is a life spent searching
Desiring something more, something better
A thing that will meet society's approval
Everyone's approval.

If you only knew
How perfect, how flawless you seem to me
How I would never criticize you
The way I browbeat myself.
Yet you find every little thing to pick at
But you would say the same thing to me.

So why does it frustrate me?
When you complain about your hair being out of place
Your smile being crooked
Your thighs being too large
Or your nonexistent muffin top to the rest of us
But to you its omnipresent

Because I have all those things.
They are wrong with me
Not you.

Because you, by definition
Are skinnier, prettier and more likable than I am
I strive to be like you,
So maybe I could be happy.
And yet you want to change it.

Because I fear that you see me
The same way I see myself.

I will never measure up to you
But I wish you could meet your own requirements
For better than good enough.

I wish you could see yourself
Through the same lens that the world views you through.