A/N: More poetry. I like this one more than the other one, though, because this one actually makes sense. Woo.


She peers at the scale,

And the numbers peer back.

136, they say.


She groans in frustration,

Will I ever be beautiful?

God whispers,

You already are.

But she does not hear Him

Over the gentle squeak of the scale.

She looks in the mirror

Sees herself looking back.

Big nose, pimples.


She hangs her head slowly,

Why am I not beautiful?

God whispers,

Dear one, you are.

But she cannot hear Him,

For the mirror talks just a bit louder.

She watches That Boy.

That Boy does not watch back,

Because he is watching another.


Her heart breaks in half,

He doesn't think I'm beautiful.

God whispers,

I do, and you are.

But she will not hear Him,

Because she doesn't think it matters.

She starves herself slowly,

Cakes make-up on her face,

Squeezes into tiny-tiny clothes.


There, she thinks, I'm beautiful.

But honestly,

She feels anything but.

My child, God says.

Why do you not hear?

Whispered words pass around the school,

Mean, hurtful ones.




She cries into her pillow.

God, why are you not here?

He murmurs, I am, you're just not looking.

She leans against her bookshelf

Makeup runny, clothes askew




A book falls off the shelf.

She opens it, and she sees.

I'm beautiful.

You are, God agrees, because I made you that way.