“But she isn’t hot.”
When did we become so materialistic?
That we started to find beauty
In numbers
Numbers on weighing scale
Numbers on measuring tape
Wrapped around her waist
Number of times she eats everyday
Number of miles she runs
Length of her hair
And her height
We started to look for beauty
In the folds of cloths
In color of skin
In everything
That doesn’t define a girl
She’s not the number of guys
Going crazy for her
She’s not the amount of makeup
Covering her face
She’s not the ruined lipstick
She’s not the eyeliner
Streaming down her face with her tears
She’s not the length of her skirt
She’s not the loudness of her voice
My dear,
She’s all the books she reads
And all the poems she writes
She’s kohl lined eyes
Sparkling in sunlight
She’s touch of her hand
When holding a paintbrush
She’s the look on her face
When she knows you’re lying
But never says anything about it anyway
She’s the songs she hums
In the morning while cleaning her room
She’s rhythm of her body
When she’s dancing around her room
Messing it up
She’s the honesty in her voice
When she says “I love you”
Look at her
Look at her closely goddamn it
And tell me
Is being “not hot”
Worse than
She being not everything she actually is