Skin Deep
You say I have a low self-esteem and you smile.
Pat me on my head.
Suggest counseling of some sort because
hey! everyone is seeing a shrink nowadays.
You tell me I worry too much
and that while some unenlightened fools
do judge on appearances
oh my goodness! what was I thinking?
You would never stoop so low.
Beauty is what is inside, not on the out.
And in my soul, I'm beautiful.
so the wise will see me for who I am.

Will they?
Can they?
I don't see how.
Beautiful is Nikki Taylor.
Clara Bow. The Barbie Doll.
Kate Moss.
Elizabeth Taylor, Twiggy.
Calista Flockhart.
All my life and all yours too
we've been told "This is beautiful.
Are you?" So surround me with beauty
Smother me with these images
and appearances I could never
attain. And then wonder why
I cry.

So I say I don't want to look like that.
Like them.
I'm fine just the way I am.
I smile bravely.
You give me a wink and say
"Thatta girl!" and walk on.
You read your Comsopolitan.
Your People Magazine.
and live vicariously through
these faces. These bodies.
These borrowed dreams.

And then you chastise me,
while you primp your Courtney Cox 'do,
for having my low self-esteem.
Wonder why I cannot accept myself
for who I am
as you buy your Tommy jeans,
Heave enlightened sighs as
you realise I'd give anything
to look like you.
To be beautiful too.
And then you scold me again
for missing the point.
I know, I know.
True beauty is the soul.
Yada yada yada.
Then you curse when your Covergirl
eyes are smudged from the tears.
And you walk to the mirror to make
yourself beautiful again.