2 am, laying on the floor of my school’s library
Nose deep in a book, rocking dingy old sweatpants
Hidden behind a mountain of books, I bother nobody
Until I guy friend of mine gives me a weird glance.

“Hey, you don’t look like yourself” he said
With a smirk carving into his well rested face.
His stare rests on my broken eyes, begging to go to bed,
With their deep purple bags too engraved to erase.


Who does he think he is, telling me such things in a library?!
« Why yes, I am without sleep, without my jewels,
I’m going through finals week, I don’t give a f*** if I look pretty »
His eyebrows raise, it seems I’ve surprised this fool.

« Wow, okay, don’t get so worked up
It’s just that you could have fixed yourself up
You don’t really look like yourself without a bit of makeup»
Please tell me he’s kidding, if not I might throw up.

So who exactly do I look like without my war paint?
My short blond lashes, are they fake? Are they lies?
Who are my acne scars trying to impersonate?
And from whom did I steal pores of such a size?

I realized the truth had to be revealed:
« I don’t wake up in the morning looking flawless.
I have imperfections, I have insecurities,
Yes, I’m human, to such a sin I confess!

It’s true, I like embellishing myself, it's my prerogative
To feel more confidant, to look less exhausted
But know that this doesn’t define my beauty
I have exams to cram for, so do me a favour and leave »

You are your own police, of your own body
Your choices, your values, your decisions; it’s your liberty
If someone tries to control your self-expression
Make them realize they’re messing with the wrong woman.