echo Written By Natasha Effendy
My thighs simply collide
In a heap of soft sand dunes
With millions of rivers
That has it sources
From the mountains of my belly
Which folds as uneven rocks-
Do you think I’m pretty?
What about the splash
Of dark orange watercolours
Across my pale canvas skin
Like tattoos of autumn leaves
Forever on my hairy arms and legs
That brand me disgusting-
Do you think I’m pretty?
I’ve got these things on me,
Scars, birthmarks and the like.
My battle wounds that I ignore
Unlike the rest of the world
Who glare or stare at me
Like I’m such a freak-
Do you think I’m pretty?
A face exposed bare of raw me,
I can’t master the intricate art
Of hair and makeup
Like most of the girls
Who stun and shimmer
With a smack of lines and glitter-
Do you think I’m pretty?
Look at me. Look at me;
What do you see?
An eyebrow’s angle plucked wrong.
Lips not pumped into fat sausages;
Eyelashes not curled without ink
Or my eyes a flightless bird-
Do you think I’m pretty?
Society has its own preferences
To pick at,
Appreciating hourglasses over sticks,
The models and the curvy,
Relishing big butts and boobs;
All of which I don’t have-
Do you think I’m pretty?
They seem to like the “girly ones”,
Fashionistas and dancers
Who blush when complimented
And smile all year round
With that sweet, sweet face
I definitely lack-
Do you think I’m pretty?
They sing, they draw, they photograph,
Just doing whatever they like
While a vocal writer goes unrecorded
For she isn’t as pretty as they are,
Without a doll-like face
And perfect plastic shapes-
Do you think I’m pretty?
I’m a shapeless creature
Threatened by the Barbie dolls
Who pose stiff in pictures
With a silicone smile-
Do you think I’m pretty?
No. Of course you don’t.
