I stare in the mirror, and what do I see, this ugly thing starring back at me.
It has some hips, a curve or two, a blemish here, make that a few.
It has a hair all gone off stray, it's bum so big, it's here to stay.
It's eye were piercing blue like mine, If only the physic was just as fine.
It's legs were bulging, big and soft.
It's breast were average, Jordan would scoff.
I looked, I starred, I analysed,
and suddenly to my great surprise. I realised.
Not ugly, no. not even a bit, just because I actually have hips, I'm just not quite what the media asks,
With girls so thin they surely must fast. With their skin so clear, it must be fake!
legs like sticks, photoshopped! it's a trick
no I'm not ugly, just real!
So I stare into this mirror long. I finished my playlist every song, by the time I realised how I was dumb.
In that mirror stood a woman, strong and individual.
With curves and lumps and spots and humps.
Perfect, real and healthy.
So I took the mirror from the wall and carried it right through the hall.
I took it and I placed it by the door. I took my pen and wrote a message so fellow peeps would not believe the lie the media does feed.
And as my friend walked on in she looked straight at it, in and in then read the message I had wrote.
I am perfect. The mirror lies.
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