My body is the fact I twist to bury myself
beneath inches of faked confidence and beauty,
for there is a war being fought on the plains
of my stomach and the valleys and hills of my thighs.
My mind facilitates this battle of parts and all of these lies.
Convince me, I scream to the girl in the mirror,
who’s stretching her legs and tightening her stomach.
Convince me that beauty sleeps deep in my bones
that all of my features are sitting on thrones
convince me that the only beauty that matters is my soul’s.
I won’t believe you, but try.