Bit of language...

I wish I had the freedom
To say I love my curves,
To throw self-consciousness to the wind,
And wear the short skirts and tight shirts
That apparently make the world go round.
I wish I had the freedom
To look happy when I smiled for pictures,
And not have to worry about how I'm sitting
Or how I'm smiling
Or if my arms or cheeks or chin or ass are going to look too big.
I wish I had the strength
To yell proudly
"REAL WOMEN HAVE CURVES!"
But I don't
Because I don't believe it
Or if it's true, then I don't want to be a real woman.
I want to be the phony, fake, shallow images
That litter magazine covers and TV screens.
I want people to look at me and say
"She can't possibly be that beautiful in real life"
And "Oh, she must be on drugs or pills"
And “She must have a terrible personality”
Because I'm simply so beautiful that the world can't believe I'm real.
And maybe I'll grow shallow and bitter and callous
But at least I'll be beautiful.
Who gives a shit about a great personality?
You should judge by your weight, not your IQ
Who gives a shit about inward beauty?
No, it's what's on the outside that counts.