Beauty

Here I am, once again Chains that shackle my feet To an ideal, To a model, A model with such small features, such crimson cheeks, Such a snow complexion, Slavery has ended, Why has oppression not ceased? Why I ask? Why? Am I not beautiful? Are my features so repulsive? Is it heavy lidded eyes? Or my sculpted lips? Or my sun-scorched skin? I make a stand Upon firm ground Releasing these chains I declare myself beautiful Not by their standards, But by mine.