Porcelain skin, sparkling eyes.
Perfect lips, telling happy lies.
Be yourself, be sure to fit in.
Anything, but comfortable in our own skin.
Straight teeth, straight hair.
Flawless is far from fair.
They tell you to be you,
but they don't mean you.
They want you to be the better you.
The you they classify as immcaulate,
Truly, I am none.
My face is blotchy and red.
My teeth are uneven and curled.
My hair is rampant and waved.
My eyes are dull and grey.
I hurt and I am over-emotional.
Really, I'm broken and frazzled.
If you look at me, I could understand your assumptions.
That I am not impeccable or unblemised.
And you could guess, that I am not flawless.
But it is because I measure to nothing on their scale,
that I am impeccable.
It is because I've broken their mold,
that I am immaculate.
It is because I am broken, blemished, and faulted,
that I am flawless.