The Standard

Her hair is straight
Long and glossy
It once was a shiny black
Then a shiny red
Now its a shiny blonde
Her smile is perfection
Teeth white, lips red
Her skin is a smooth brown

No black heads
No pimples
No blemishes
Her body,
Shaped like an hour glass
Waist tiny
Stomach flat
Thighs don’t rub when she walks
Breasts, just right
Hips just fine
She’s who the magazines call gorgeous
She’s the standard
The standard of beauty
She’s who I’m supposed to look up to
Me, with my crooked smile
And dark skin
With my full figure
And thick thighs
Me with my kinky hair
And blemished skin.
Me and the millions of me-s
Are meant to look up to her
The one.
It’s a broken system
Really it is
We are different, she and I
But if she’s the standard
Then how do I measure up?