(It's far less temperantal and fragile than the male equivalent)
That unwanted curve in a lycra dress,
The three taut lines on the side of my green jeans,
The whiff of a line under the chin
The light ripple of fat when I wave goodbye,
The littlle handle that protudes from the back when I bend over,
The undesirable hint of darkness on the extremeties of my face,
The malice with which my painstakingly painted nails chip,
The geography of toes that resolutely never stay together,
The awkward duck-walk that reveals itself when I'm not careful enough,
Unwelcome little hairs that shouldn't really be there
Were little pieces of jigsaw that came together to create
A vastly flawed, almost ugly caricature.
Till I realized I was allowing men to evaluate how I felt about myself.
When was the last time we trusted a man's judgement on anything?