Do I have what it takes to be called beautiful?
But how do I know if beauty is relative.
Is it in the boldness of my eyes?
Is it in the richness of my skin?
Could it be in the softness of my hair?
Could it be in the curve of my smile?
Is it in the way I confidently walk?
Is it in the way I assertively talk?
Or does it have to be in the length of my skirt,
Or does it have to be in the dip in my shirt,
The weight on my scale?
The height on my doorway?
The race I was born with
The tan I sun myself with?
The mask I scornfully wear
The curl of my straight hair
Is beauty in the redness of my lips?
The thin slant of my hips?
The fullness of my chest?
But what about the things I do best?
Since beauty is relative
I see what truly is beautiful
Everything you call ugly
All I see is beautiful
Since I see diamonds in the roughest rough
Since I see sparkles in the dullest dull
Since I see the rose through the thorns
I do not need anyone to call me beautiful
Since I already am.