I’m not a Victoria Secrets model
I don’t wear my undergarments out
For the world to see with
Perky breasts and a flat, scarless tummy.
I’m not the perfect specimen of
Flawless beauty on television or
In a magazine-air brushed to the nines
And looking serene with a smoky eye and pouty lips.
I am a woman, though often a child inside
Full of insecurities, moles, marks
And scars from a life fully lived
Sixty-two years in the making.
I shall look upon this body, this outer shell
To the inward soul, with a perfect heart
That loves myself and cherishes each flaw
And thanks my creator for making me so.
I’m tired of not feeling enough, of judging myself and never winning. How can I compete with what the world considers to be beautiful? That kind of competition insures that I am never 1st, and quite often last.
I am content to be where I am although not complacent as in giving up. I am grateful for what I have been given and I will encourage others to do the same. Victoria has nothing on us!