Define “Beauty”

April 30th, 2025

Desirability equals worth.

And that in itself is treachery of self.

Why must the definition of beauty have disclaimers? 

If I don’t have the fattest ass, I am not beautiful, I am not wanted.

But it must be full and perky and defined.

If I don’t have the best looking tits, I am not beautiful, I am not desirable. 

But they must be heavy and stand tall and defined.

If I don’t have the below average waist, I am not beautiful, I am not fuckable. 

But it must have a perfect curve, never bloated, and defined.

If I don’t have the pretty thighs, I am not beautiful, I am not worthy.

But they must have no cellulite, no stretch marks, no signs of growth or a glimpse of change.

But most importantly, defined.

My face plump and round and destined to be nothing but “cute” and pumping full of unsatisfactory. 

I am not defined enough.

My eyes are never filled with lust when a woman with my idea of beauty comes near, 

they are filled with borderline envy and insecurity. 

Thinking,

How could I look like that

Why don’t I look like that?

I will never be as beautiful as her.

Then I fear that my love might be looking too,

but instead with eyes of want.

Wishing I looked like that.

Wishing they didn’t settle down so quick,

so they could experience a body like that.

Because I am an evil girl.

And most evil girls are drowning in some sort of lack that they feel deep in their ribs.

My ocean screams that I am not my definition of beauty.

But my evil will burrow its home inside me.

I never want it to leave me, 

to spit onto anyone else.

I am an evil girl, a wrongdoer, an internally horrible feminist.

Because I am still growing.

Pain sparks in my legs and interrupts my sleep,

sending me to the precipice of shameful tears in long mirrors and fitting rooms.

Because I am growing, still.

And I kneel to Aphrodite to keep growing.

Until my face is in the clouds,

high off of my own happiness.

Admiring myself for the artpiece I am, 

not for the painting someone else has made for me. 

Standing so very tall that societal norms, social media, and pesky pesky men are no more.

Out of sight, out of me. 

So, as the evil girl that I am, I am still on my knees.