No lies, pretense or hiding,
Just a true you as a being
The curve of your lips, the glint of your eyes
Fooling yourself is not very nice.
The art being you, perfectly made
Made in uniqueness and style you withhold
Spaces of your fingers, cuticle of your nails,
The mark of your thumb forever instill.
The tip of your nose, your lashes dark
The window of your soul a day on spark
The strand of your hair, from root to tip,
Shiny black, mild deep.
The way you dress, the way you talk,
Snappy, agile, demure, shy like a walk.
That being you is all it counts
No-dark make-up, expensive clothes amount.
Nothing to prove, nothing to show
You're like a traffic lights on the go;
Do not pretend to fit on the club-
Facing yourself on mirror against the mob.
At mirror echo yourself in many identities,
Never appreciate who you are in unique qualities
Seek more worth like others had
You already had but keep on your wardrobe locked.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
in many identities I like it, thanks.