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A poem on appearance and other attributes.

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V-A-L-U-E

Can you tell me that I’m beautiful?
Can you tell me that I’m sexy
And that my brown, almond eyes are captivating?
Can you call me doll face,
Gorgeous, Angel, Baby?
Will you please just tell me
That my new dress is stunning,
That I look slim and you can’t even tell that I’ve put on 5lbs?

Can you tell me that I’m beautiful?
You’ve not mentioned my new haircut,
Are you not gonna say
How you like the way that it frames my pretty face?
Don’t ask how much it cost,
How much it all costs to look this way.

Can you tell me that I’m beautiful?
Can you notice how soft the skin
At the bottom of my back is?
Can you taste my perfume
And wonder what my scent is?
Will you tell me in the morning,
Even with my messy hair and no make-up
With my puffy eyes and dry lips,
Tell me that you still think I’m gorgeous.

Because these are all the things
You’re meant to say,
All the things I’m meant to want to hear.
I have to say I feel a buzz
When you, just you, tell me
How you like the way I look.

But.
But last night you told me,
We were sat on the couch after tea,
You told me “You’re one of the most
Intelligent people I’ve ever met.”
And I felt a rush of pride,
Of love, of shock.
Shock because it’s rare to hear
That I’m valued for more.

I’m meant to want to be pretty,
Slim, sexy, toned, youthful.
Yet I’m trying hard to see more of myself
To value more of myself.
I want you to tell me again
Tell me I’m funny, kind, interesting, clever.

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