I’m told that the lines on my body need hiding,
And that my skin should always look smooth.
When did our wrinkles become a disgrace?
Aren’t they a sign of the joy we once felt?
Of the love with which life was embraced.
I'm told that my body needs to be thin,
And that I should always look toned.
When did our curves become below the norm?
Aren’t they a sign of fertility and love?
Of sensuality when our clothes hugs them firm?
I’m told that the hair on my body needs cutting,
And that my skin should be soft as a child’s.
When did our body hair become a disgust?
Isn’t that a sign that our bodies have life,
Of the humaness that we were assigned?
I’m told that my grey hair needs to be dyed,
And that I should always look like I’m young.
When did our greys hair become a descent?
Isn’t that a sign that time passed with grace,
Of memories that show that we’re still in the race?
I’m told that… oh, the list can go on, but I won’t,
Too tired to care about who tells me these don’ts.
Time flies by in the blink of an eye, and this body is my own,
I’d rather spend my life falling in love with it truly till I’m gone.
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