Intro To Poetry – Prompt: Face
Plaster with foundation
Inject it with collagen
And scrub until raw.
Fret about bags
Mask pesky pimples
And wonder what people think when they see you on the street.
I confuse beauty with self-love
But the two are NOT the same.
So many faces with no names I pass on a regular basis
And never do I once criticize their face.
So what does that tell you?
I need to change the eyes looking back at me in the mirror
Because that crook in my smile and hook on my nose
It’s what makes me, me.
I’ve lived in Orange County for the past two years and the pressure to be perfect is real. It’s nothing like I’ve experienced anywhere else and it definitely promotes a different kind of body anxiety.
A friend of mine told me if there’s no such thing as a perfect body than the best we can hope for with our own is feeling neutral when looking at it.
What’s the solution to making sure little girls don’t grow up insecure?