Beauty isn't always nice

One day I wore red lipstick to feel beautiful
And when I say red I mean
the color of a ripe strawberry
The color of fresh oozing blood
The color of fire trucks wailing to extinguish the fire
And when I said fire I mean my flaming insecurity
When I say I wanted to feel beautiful
I meant I just wanted to have a value worth living for
Beauty isn’t always nice.
Beauty can be a mean spirited tragic ending to a sob fest
And when I say a sob fest I mean an actual festival with one person attending and just sobbing
That person is me.
And when I finally realized
I liked black lipstick more than red
I caught myself in the middle of the war between who I wanted to be and who you wanted to see
Is beauty accepting myself completely or is beauty conforming to your expectations
Conforming to each and every tweak you make to my body through that photoshop
See me as an advertisement made to attract customers
And when you ask me who are the customers
I say everyone.
You, Me, him and her
We are all conforming to those who want us to seem less threatening to the society that likes to silence
So was beauty ever nice?
Was beauty ever something other than a broken heart?
Was beauty ever a thing worth having?
Or is beauty really those whom are unapologetically themselves
Isn’t that who I strive to be?
Or is the definition of “be yourself”
Just a coverup for you to dictate every step I make.
Let’s watch
Let’s See

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Our world

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