More Than the skin I'm in

more short poetry. Something old

More than the skin I’m in


Praying that he see’s more than the skin I’m in.
I Struggle with whether I should bear myself to him and catch his attention, or should I let him get to know my inner beauty?

Inside I scream

I'm more than a pretty face,
with a thin waist and a wide behind.
Yet no one hears me and even if I had said it out loud,
what would it matter to anyone but me?

It seems, while under all my layers, I maybe more but maybe its too many layers too adore.
Yet I pray that he sees more than the skin I’m in.
Maybe I flash him with my intelligence, my Thoughts of past and present remnants share a proverb or two, do things the less curvy won’t do.

Nothing obscene because I’m a Queen
With thick proportions
No mind distortions
Just want to be seen.