He said I was an eight,

A solid eight.

That’s not bad right?

An eight is still an A

still an Ace and if that’s the case

I should appreciate.

He said sometimes I can be an eight point nine

those are the days I look really fine,

the days where I change my smile

adjusted my style

bleached my skin

was extra clean

a picture-perfect queen.

As my mother’s words rang from within

like a catchy rhythm

Echoing, mtanami you are so beautiful.

Mama, I thought so too,

but it turns out you and I were singing the wrong tune.

You see, I’m beauty without the full

cause I’m not the full package

and no, the boy didn’t do too much damage

he simply called me an eight

so, I shouldn’t act desperate

and yet,

I believed his lies

so, I glanced at my thighs and asked,

“Why do you wobble so much?”

So much after a mere touch,

asked my shoulders why they slouch

And with tears in my eyes,

I turned to the One from above,

asked for more,

“Lord anything to keep my body from being such a bore

even if it’s beyond my stage

so, what if it fills mother with rage?

She doesn’t understand our age!”

But the Lord looked at my shame

filled with pain

wondering if His words were in vain

And in disdain He said I was made in His image

so, I need not knowledge from boys who were not sage

nor saved

He said,

“Daughter, you are my masterpiece

so, shouldn’t I be the only master you seek to please?”