Poet:: In Our Way
I stand before the glass and pick apart,
the line, the curve, the shadow, the mark.
Whose face is this I'm supposed to be?
A filtered dream that isn't me.
I scroll and see the flawless skin,
the effortless grace I'm not within.
I fold myself to fit their frame,
and whisper all my softer parts with shame.
My eyes too tired, my nose too wide,
my laugh too loud, my hips too wide.
I learn to hide in softer light,
afraid that being seen isn't right.
But listen —
Who told the rose to wish for lily's height?
Who taught the moon to envy morning light?
You were never meant to be a copy.
You were meant to be a whole.
Your beauty isn't in the symmetry they praise,
it's in the way your face holds all your days.
In how your eyes light up when you care,
in the story of your hands, your hair.
So breathe. Let the measuring go.
You are not less for not being them.
You are more for being you —
unrepeatable, unfinished, and
beautiful in your own way.
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