Instagram is my biggest foe.
Scrolling through my feed, I’m led to such
With perfectly arched brows and full lips,
Their hair shiny and their perfect teeth,
With bikini bodies;
Curvy bosoms and yet flat tummies!
How is it possible?
To have a thousand followers
And a thousand likes?
To be so wanted, by all the men alike.
She’s a hoe!
I can’t help but feel like that green-eyed witch.
Is social media all a mere a façade?
She’s plastic; she just knows how to play her cards.
Crooked nose and curled lips,
I am only 5.1 feet.
My proportions are just not right,
Why do all my clothes seem so tight?
Am I beautiful, I often ask.
My boyfriend thinks I’m some work of art.
He likes looking at where my ear lobe meets my face,
And when I furrow my brows in a daze,
My genuine belly-laugh,
And the way my cheeks puff up,
The smell of my hair and my little sounds,
Makes his chest flutter a little more.
My arms wrapped around his, makes him feel
He thinks I’m perfect.
But before today, it didn’t matter what he thought
Because objectively, I was clearly not.
Before today, those girls who cared, not for a single second
What I felt,
Mattered more to me than what he saw.
It fascinates me now, how powerful it is,
that the way he gazes at me when I walk through the door,
the way in which his fixated eyes light up with adore,
Makes me feel as if I were some kind of angel –
Sublime, perfect and a miracle.
That in his head, in his daydreams and everyday thoughts,
I was the most beautiful girl in his world,
no other girl mattered.
It seems so silly, then, that I doubted myself, for,
Having found love is such an enchanting win.
Those instagram girls, are after all,
looking for that one thing;
To be loved, that’s all.