I Don't Want To Be Perfect

As always I try to keep my poem posts on my blog seperate from any other blogging and such I do. Here's my newest poem thanks to the Shania Twain song I Don't Wanna Be and well a few other things.

Fix your eyebrows,
Dye your hair,
Put on some make-up
Come on show that you care,
Be sure to be dressed just right,
And be silent unless spoken to,
After all you’re just a woman
And your opinions don’t matter like a man’s,
You have to work double time to count
That glass ceiling holds you in,
Manicure your nails,
Brush your teeth just right,
Lose a few more pounds
It’s another fad diet
But it shouldn’t matter
After all you have to fit in,
You have to look the image,
You must fit the stereotype.
It doesn’t matter if you got a mind
It’s the outside that counts,
Not the beauty within,
Forget all those stories mommy told you
If you really want to fit in,
It doesn’t matter if you can write,
Or heal people’s hearts and minds,
Or able to kiss all the tears away,
You must look beautiful
With the perfect smile,
The perfect eyes,
The perfect body,
Everything must be oh so perfect.
But I don’t want to do that,
I want to resist against the stereotype,
And forget about needing to look a certain way,
And having a certain image
That is portrayed in every magazine it seems,
I rather have someone care about my mind
Than the way I keep my eyebrows
Or do my makeup,
Or wear certain clothes to fit in,
I rather have someone care about my soul
Than the way I wear my hair,
Or how much I weigh,
Or how I don’t fit an image of perfect,
I rather have someone care about my being
Than manicured nails on my hands,
Or the perfect smile,
Or the perfect eyes,
I don’t want to be perfect
I don’t want to obsess over some sort of
Stereotypical mess,
I don’t want to try to fit into a box
Of lies and untruths of what a women
Should look like and say,
I am not going to believe those society norms,
Because I don’t want to be perfect,
And I don’t want to be vain,
And the glass ceiling isn’t going to hold me in,
I know my opinions matter just as much as a man’s
So don’t ask me to be perfect,
Because I don’t want to be perfect
Not at a cost of losing my soul.
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