Hello all, this poem is very personal to me, It's written about a topic that I used to feel vulnerable about. To elaborate, I have my dad's hair genes, which means that I have thick hair practically all over my body. I have thick eyebrows, thick eyelashes, thick arm hair,  and even a semi-mustache :P, and the list goes on. Growing up, I felt uncomfortable with all the hair on my body, because many other girls simply didn't have very much body hair in general, or they had already shaved it off. My dad didn't allow me to shave, so I couldn't use shaving as a temporary solution.

Looking back, I would've never felt uncomfortable if I would've never listened to what society had to say about me, a female, having body hair. From there, I began my journey of self-acceptance, I began looking up to people, such as Frida Kahlo, who used her unibrow and body hair to make a statement. If she felt comfortable revealing herself to the world who she truly is, then why can't I?

From there, I found out that a permanent solution, instead of shaving would be to love myself, as Camila Cabello would say, "There's no freedom like the freedom that comes from accepting yourself." I decided that I would gain my freedom back and no longer allow society to dictate the way that I feel, the way that I look, or even my personality.

In the end, I felt comfortable with my natural self, I accepted who I am, everything that comes with me. That inspired me to write this poem about someone that is struggling with acceptance.

The hair on my body is mine, not yours,
but yet she yearns for your forgiveness as if it was a chore.

She lunges into the arms of a razor for the comfort that is scattered around the
bathroom floors.

But the smoothness of her skin, the longevity of his grin is enough to
quench her heart.

Then why does it hurt?

Every week I shave for my wellbeing and I'm instead shunned by my heart.

Why is it that when I look in the mirror I see the body of a girl that neglected her heritage?

They fought for my existence and it hurts to say that I've written off every physical trait that is listed.

But oh,
his smile makes it worthwhile.

Suddenly the razor bumps don't seem so hostile.

I'm trapped between two worlds that insist that I embrace my natural self but then tells me that
beauty is pain.

Is beauty the rainbow after the rain?

Does it place a band-aid over the worlds,
judgmental heart?

Can they love me like how I loved myself, before?

It's a good thing we classify beauty as pain, otherwise, it would just be labeled as inhumane.