I stand before a mirror, a piece of glass
A reflection married by each perceived smudge.
I must be perfect, whispers that stubborn nudge.
In a heart where self-acceptance won’t nudge.

Chasing shadows of an ideal, ever elusive,
Crafted by a world, oh, so seductive.
I must fit the mold, become more conclusive,
Cries the voice within, desperate and reductive.

I starve for compliments, hunger for pride,
Yet in the praise, I still hide.
A younger me appears and pleads, let this obsession slide,
“Please, no more,” she cries, tears unload

Torn between now and the not yet,
Reflecting on the goals I hav not met.
I must mold, ambitions reconsidered,
On goals unattainable, in stone, they stare.

Yet hear, oh, hear me, as visions clear,
The pleas of a perfect form, I no longer adhere.
The discovery of being enough, start to steer,
Towards acceptance, in the mirror, I draw near.

I’m more than measurements, more than a number,
In my own skin, I embrace this sacred space.
I am confident in finding grace,
In self-acceptance, a true human understanding