Don’t Call Me Beautiful

I see how it really is.
It’s not simply the size of my waist,
or the curve of my breasts
that don’t measure up to your idea
of beautiful.
Your judgement goes far deeper than the skin you
taught me to hate.
You picked away at me,
pointing out all of the ways I was not enough,
until I believed you.
But my insecurity, you said, made me
even more unattractive.

It’s not befitting of a lady to be strong;
those provocative opinions and that wilful independence
would never bring me love.
At least that’s what you told me;
and there was nothing pretty about my vulgar mouth.

But you failed to silence me by
making ‘beautiful’ my most valuable
yet unattainable commodity;
a way you could dismiss me
when I wasn’t what you thought I should be.
Go ahead.
Ignore what I say.
Reduce me to the sum of the skin I’m in.
Let your jeers and taunts
drown out my voice.
Laugh at me. Dismiss me. Insult me. Put me in your box.
But know that I will never be shamed into submission.
Because I’ll never be as concerned as you are,
with how I look.

No, I’m not beautiful.
What ever made you imagine I aim to be?

I’m not beautiful,
I am so much more than that.

You’ll never know my worth.
It’s in the places you’re not looking.

 – K.W


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