I don’t owe you my pretty.

I don’t owe you my pretty,

with flawless skin,

absent of wrinkles and dark spots,

and every hair placed just so,

without a grey to be seen.

Nor do I owe you

a perfectly toned body,

honed into submission

by hours of sweat and toil at the gym,

or breathless by the constriction of Spanx,

absent of rolls and dimples,

just so you can evaluate

how I appear in my clothes

or even, perhaps, without.

Nor do I owe you

a radiant smile gracing my face,

put there at the instant of your request,

simply to brighten your day

and make you feel better,

just so you don’t feel uncomfortable

and perhaps even wonder

what caused the furrow in my brow

or the tight pursing of my lips.

And I certainly don’t owe you

being small,

keeping my voice quiet

and never speaking my mind,

reserving my opinions and thoughts

for only my own mind to hear.

No, I don’t owe you my pretty,

complying with your definition

of beauty and femininity.

The only thing I owe this world

is Me,

my genuine self,

the perfect embodiment of a gracious soul,

living an imperfect life,

but living nonetheless.

(3-4-17)