I smile as I walk by the blurs of students

The lockers, crammed onto one side of the wall

I look up at the other girls

Showing off their beauty, standing tall

I wish I could be like them.

As I’m studying the pictures

Of women, with angel-like forms

I tell myself I’m beautiful the way I am

But I’ve got to be perfect,

I’ve got to go through those storms

If only I could be like them.

My mother tells me I’m perfect

She tells me the thing that matters least is my size

Every day, she tells me I’m perfect

But the mirror says otherwise

Why can’t I be like them?

I’ve got to face reality because I can’t run and run

Over my small amount of experiences and years

I’ve learned that not every puzzle piece is the right one

I might not be perfect in your eyes,

But I am perfect in mine.