Picture Perfect

Fair, dusky, dark!
Layers of filters,
wares of knots.

The lighter the tone,
the bosting I am.
Loads of turmeric for
the D-day coming soon,
like a cake is festooned,
with fondants and berries,
to get slayed with hands so pure.

Pear, hourglass, round!
Types of shape,
hypes of bootleg.

The smoother the curve,
the pleasing I am.
When corset hugs me tightly,
vultures make a brake,
and set me higher on pedestal
where I am measured
by an ugly scale for beauty

I am drenched in rage,
with insecurities dancing around,
this society advised me
to not look pretty
and also look pretty
at the very same second.
How am I supposed to do that?
I may attract peeps. Oops!

My mails filled with tips,
on how to rock summers
and make the people drool,
with white face, pink lips.
But wait!
My mirror is screaming something else.
It shows me blood too,
instead of my mere collarbones.

And today,
when there's Botticelli's Venus in me,
why am I standing beside the fake moonlight,
when I can collapse everything like a 'black' hole?

~prachi