They think I’m all looks and no brains.
Nothing but air there.
They believe pain cannot penetrate a pleasant aesthetic.
It hurts to the bone.
They think I’m promiscuous.
I have discriminating tastes.
While his looks will get him a promotion and a raise,
my looks are considered too distracting and dangerous.
I have to hide my body to control his roaming eye.
They’re drawn to my curves and lines.
They only want a trophy, until the next shiny thing walks by.
In all of this, I’m not suffering because of good looks.
But being admired for one’s looks sometimes feels like a burden.
Beauty fades with time.
Everyone wants to be appreciated for the fullness of their character.
Nobody wants to be forced into hiding.