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OMG, my mirror is broke! My jeans shrunk and my bras won’t fit! My size zeros have now joined the rest of the number line and became fours. My hips now tell a lie and poke out like they have potential to be thick, ABC easy as, wait wait wait what about D? Oh its non-existence is ignored, only until I look down and see that my boobs fit the lonely letter. Where is that noise coming from? My big flapping lips, the first thing you notice on this girl, that’s because they’re real girl, not model lips of a cover girl. My father must have been a Hershey kiss, and my mother a piece of Godiva - because the sun is always seemingly glowing on my perfectly brown sprinkled skin… I fell on these legs, skinned my knee and all, bruised my calves and bruised my thighs but they never stop growing. There like my personal ticket to standing out, completing my looks, that is… Long, perfect, delicate to handle and filled with talent all on their own. I got a reason, this conceitedness is nothing to tweak or try to change, it’s a mistake to think I’m not serious when speaking of myself with such confidence or laugh when I aim for your personality; so easily holding a conversation in my palms, as if I’m reading your mind. I speak to everyone as Bo$$ and walk around as what some call Hollywood, you ask why and I wonder, doesn’t everyone? I complement my swagger constantly and spend money nonchalantly towards the economy. If you had my geisha complemented eyes you’d see the world drizzled in sparkles and pink, and if someone was to dare push me off my princess pedestal I’d look around laugh and get back up, because when you’re me, you’re seats always reserved. Excuse me, I’m so sorry, that was my ego talking. TGT 4/21/13