It is not merely about the shape of my eyes,

Or the glow of my hair,

It is not solely about the gaps between my thighs,

Or the brand of my sneakers,

The standards of this society are lies,

Nay, beauty cannot be compared,

The voluptuous features which my ancestors lent me are wholly mine,

And they are not less or unfair,

Not better,

And nor are they meant for you to prize,

I do not drink from the well of your admiration,

Nor do I define myself by the extent of your appreciation,

Whether you applaud my clover-shaped nose,

Or deplore the uncanny tone of my voice,

The strength of my heart invalidates your accusations,

Your persecution, your condemnation,

Are outweighed by the gleam of my soul,

I do not mean to boast,

To crow or gloat about qualities which I lack,

Because perfection isn’t foremost,

No, to self-esteem, it is not the host,

But it is a plague that pulls us back,

An illusion we have to fight,

I embrace the unevenness of my distorted smile,

An imperfection which brings me a step closer to humility,

Oh, how fond am I of the bags that harbor my eyes,

Canisters of a hope which can sustain all of humanity,

They are proofs of my resiliency,

They are the evidence of my persistency,

What you say I lack,

The things you claim will make me better,

Are like the wind which gazes my back,

Leaving no footprint, not here or there,

No, I will not cry at the sight of my imperfections,

Nor will I hold captive thoughts of discontent,

Because flaws lessen the heart’s pride,

And there, I lean against your crooked definition of beauty,

And there, I undo all the superficial filters,

So there, I am, flawlessly imperfect.