In the mirror, a story told,

A tale of a thousand lies,

Where beauty's mold is cast in gold,

And worth is judged by eyes.

A canvas of skin, brushed thin,

With colors dictated by magazines,

A thousand voices shout within,

Dictating what beauty means.

The runway’s straight, but hearts are curved,

Fashion’s lines, unkind and cruel,

A standard set, so undeserved,

Turning self-love into a duel.

Paint your lips, they say,

With the brightest crimson here,

Hide the scars, don’t let them fray,

For they mustn’t see the real you.

Sculpt your body, carve your soul,

Until you fit the perfect frame,

But in the quest to make you whole,

You lose the girl, become a name.

Silhouettes and shadows cast,

By lights that blind and burn,

In the spotlight, you’re an outcast,

If for acceptance you still yearn.

Yet beauty’s not a painted face,

Or a figure slim and slight,

It’s the fire, the inner grace,

The fierce courage in your fight.

It’s the smile unforced, genuine,

The laughter from deep within,

It’s the way you rise, again and again,

Despite the world’s chagrin.

Break the mirror, shatter the mold,

Let the pieces fall where they may,

In the fragments, find your gold,

In imperfections, find your way.

For beauty’s in the defiant stand,

The unfiltered, raw, and true,

In every girl who takes command,

And writes her narrative anew.

You are not their paper doll,

Not their sculpted, silent art,

You’re the voice, the clarion call,

The beat of an unbroken heart.

So here’s to you, in all your forms,

To the strength you wear with pride,

To the beauty in your storms,

To the fire you hold inside.

No standard can define your worth,

No scale can measure your soul,

For you, dear girl, define your earth,

And in your truth, you are whole.