Beautiful

Very often. 

I have to tell her very often. 

Tell her that she doesn't need a thigh gap to be amazing. 

She doesn't need makeup to be wanted. 

I can tell her everyday, that she is perfect, and that other girls would love to look like her.

But she would rather look like a stick of a girl.

A barbie.

A girl who listened to what society said and showed her was perfect.

She saw the false idea that beauty was found in long black eye lashes and size zero jeans.

And she believed.

But beauty is so much more than just skin deep, she just cant see that yet.

She is beautiful.

Not just in her perfect smile.

Or her cascading blonde hair.

In so much more than that.

 

See, when she was a kid they labeled her. 

Fat. Piggy. Ugly. Annoying. Loud. 

She believed.

She is not her weight, the number on the tag in her jeans, or the color of her hair.

She is the books she reads, the words that she speaks. 

The way she is.

She is made of so much beauty, but it seems she forgot when she decided that she were defined by all the things she is not

 

 

 

Poetry Slam: 

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