When I dress myself in trousers
That play down my womanliness,
When my mother rants about the pimples
That seem to have sprouted on my face,
When my friends shove me into the parlour
To do something about my hair --
And not to come out until I stop
Looking like a perfect nightmare.
I can't tell them it feels wrong
To put up a pretty face to hide
The pimples and the greying strands --
Beauty is what you feel inside.
~8 July 2011
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