Born with brown hair,
She turned it blond
She's already perfect,
But she got it all so wrong
Piercing eyes that melt
She's already got it
Her mind works perfectly
Guys love her figure too
But somewhere it went bad
She went from being content
To incredibly sad
And from incredibly sad to just mad
Like the world is a slaver
And she's the slave
Of impossible standards
And immoral odds
She's got to powder the face,
She's got to straighten the hair
Useless gesture really
No beauty is being added
Just ripped and taken away
Like waves stripping the shore
False images of hope
Dead identities of the self
Wise up and love yourself
And maybe then
Someone will love you
For you, and just that
The first poem I ever wrote, re-posted and tweaked.
2 comments:
The tone of this poem is powerful, but the language does not live up to it. The title, too, is excellent. My humble suggestion is: don't tweak it, write a new poem on the same topic. It's a very powerful idea, and such an idea deserves an equally powerful poem. Writing this again is totally going to be worth it.
I already started to do that, it was just a reminder of where it all started....
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