Anatomy is
a peculiar thing.
We don’t get
to choose it
and yet end up
being judged for it.
Too short, too tall,
too asymmetrical, too disproportional,
too feminine, too masculine.
Too human?
I was born not-too-tall,
with little feet and tiny toes,
but not-too-short fingers.
Blue eyes (from my mother),
that I wished were
my father’s green instead.
I am all natural, organic,
indeed, as far as
intervention goes.
Without extensions, optical
or technical
or acrylic.
Except my hair’s
infernal colour
applied externally
once a month.
This is a terrific poem. I like so many of the stanzas, but the last one is probably my favorite.
Thank you! The last two stanzas are probably closest to my typical writing style.