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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.

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