Why do I work so hard to appear pretty,
When beauty is my blood?
Why do I lay on the powder and paints,
When my skin could glow if I only let it?
Why do I envy her,
When God’s gifts to me, are just as wonderful?

What do I have to do to be beautiful?
What clothes should I wear?
Who must I please?
How must I speak?
What books should I read, if I read at all?
What shows should I watch, if I watch anything?
What masks look best with my stolen fingers?
What rings should I hang, and where must I put them?
What must be implanted, and what must be ripped away?
What must be covered up, and what must be dyed?
Is there anything I can remain?

Please everyone, and you please no one, someone wise once said,
Can I afford to please myself? To be everything I want to be?
Can I define the words for myself, without being hated?
I know the only way to happiness.
I know how I can please myself most fully, and that is by pleasing God.