If size were the estimate
big or small to make the grade
I'd put aside the need to win
as the prize would pass me by
congratulations on the form
except for those who fail to reach
the magnitudes I'll explain
while I settle for last place
against the measures that define
beauty's mark upon the flesh
be the gauge be height or width
circumference taunts especially
the basic three or four declare
who has won when the rest lose
a narrow band that declares
dimensions suited to please the eye
add to that the heft of weight
wonder at what's prescribed
twisting minds who strive to meet
perfection stated by photoshop
clothing acts as a friend
when secretly its just a bad
denying fashion that could shine
except for those with the pounds
amplified by the age
number that the wheel has turned
the contest has a shelf life
a window open for just a time
shifted some for gender's due
still all must at last expire
give up the sport when at last
the decades count past three or more
in the end the game is rigged
by the ones who typify
more or less than I have
those correction ideals of the flesh
by the judge who is the worse
asking more than all the rest
damning what I should love
prevaricator who is myself.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.20181224.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem