Looking at yourself, what do you see?
The discomfort of insecurities.
The desire of being cherished.
Now destroyed by the comments.
Ripped apart because your beauty isn’t equivalent.
Nevertheless already feeling hopeless,
When looking in the mirror and feeling unnoticed.
My shallow heart to these gruesome thoughts
Have now become the root of desperate hope for better growth.
My thickem thighs, my rolls on the side,
I know they’re so unsatisfying to your eyes.
Not enough assets to keep you sprung or maybe just enough to get a touch.
Your compliments speak no volume
When the reflection of myself is not confident.
I can’t feel what you feel.
I don’t see what you see.
My lost beauty files have been demolished by the weight of society.
So what’s your beauty worth?
Do you see it or can you find it in me?
Does my beauty intimidate you?
The boldness even through my insecurities.
What’s my beauty worth?