The
slant of my eyes
Freckled
skin with a tan
This
lopsided smile
Messed
up hair
Tied
under a worn-out band
Collar
bones that don’t show
Layers
around my waist
Oh,
they hardly go
Those chipped nails
Ah, they
never really grow
The
curve of my hips
Stretch
marks on my skin
Wound
that got healed
But
the scar?
I can still feel
The
fickle odd world
And
its standards of beauty
Matching
them
Is
neither a necessity
Nor
a priority
Not
much to flaunt
Not
much to drool
Because
they say
Imperfection
Is
beautiful
Sharing this with Poetry Pantry # 262
