Mirror, mirror on the wall, don't listen to their call. 

Society's beauty standards, a hashtag I can't endorse. 

This body's a battlefield, where I fight every day, 

Loving the skin I'm in, the only perfect way. 

 

Strong thighs that climbed mountains, a belly that holds laughter's chime, 

These curves tell a story, of a woman fierce, stepping into her prime. 

Let them whisper, their words are just background noise, static in the air, 

My body's my temple, a sanctuary free from judgment and despair. 

 

Stretch marks are a map, of battles fought and lessons learned, 

Imperfections are beauty marks, where confidence has burned. 

This skin, the color of sunshine, a canvas I proudly own, 

It carries laughter lines and stories silently sown. 

 

So scroll on by, filtered perfection, a lie I won't believe, 

My worth is not a number, in a world that wants to deceive. 

I'll wear what makes me feel good, dance to my own beat, 

This body's mine to celebrate, a revolution oh so sweet. 

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