You're either plump or thin or in between,
A perfect imperfection like a figurine;
It matters not the colour of your skin,
Tall or short, choleric or sanguine,
You look the way you look
Because it's how you ought to look?
Let the world define its own pretty Ms. Perfect,
You don't measure up? You're no defect.
Your shape and size is who you are,
Your sense of style, the striae and scar,
The gallant rumps, the sagging breasts,
The legs and curves and what they suggest;
Your bod is yours and yours alone;
It's what it is; it's what you own.
True beauty defies all definition,
Sentiments apart, there exists one summation:
Black is bodacious, White is wonderful
And there isn't one way to be beautiful.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem