On Beauty and comparing legs.

I cannot compete with the ones who are fitter.
The ones with lean limbs, hips that little bit slimmer.
The ones with tanned skin and the pearly white grins
the ones wearing skirts so short that it skims
that place that unites us, yet makes us compete
for the attention of men who'll treat us like meat.
Just a dish on the menu - you want leg, or the breast?
For I know that my womanhood can't match up to the rest.
I'm not like the pictures you see on the bus
or the silk legged teenagers that scream look at us!
I'm not of the type that wants to wear heels,
or lie about my age with chemical peels.
But I want just for once to feel like I fit,
go out with no makeup and not look like shit.
Wear tights that aren't as opaque as a glove
to the scars on my legs feel not hatred but love
feel a vague sense of pride in this body of mine,
instead of the shame that I feel all the time.
The shame that no matter what I do I can't match
halfway up to the women who're seen as a catch
The ones who don't need to make love in the dark
The ones with smooth skin that bears not a mark.
Not a scar, not a vein, not a pimple or bruise,
the signs of beautiful women; And besides them, I lose.