Handcrafted

I always thought I was handcrafted by God,

I was taken from Adam’s ribs,

I do know she was the first wife,

At least, I think I’m crafted in the image of her, right?

I am supposed to wear my halo tall and proud,

I let it gleam, clean and all pristine.

I am perfect, like a Princess with a crown,

My perfectly placed freckles,

My enticing brown eyes,

My luxurious, streaming brown hair,

My captivating smile holds my suitors,

My curvaceous hourglass figure,

My golden complexion even radiates,

Reflecting like a sun goddess.

Yet, I am sculpted by my society’s hands.

As it molds my complexion into the butt of the joke,

categorizing my figure as “not fat, yet not right,”

it insists on fixing my smile with wires,

it offers to slay my mangled curls,

it’s even mocking the twinkle in my eyes.

I am displaying signs of hope and a possible future,

I mask my freckles with layers of makeup,

I burn my hair with a flat iron,

anything to fit into the normality

Today, I find that I’m sculpted by myself,

my curls not perfectly curled,

my tan uneven,

my eyes too big,

my small, spaced out teeth makes me unique

my beautiful sensibility and quirky way of thinking,

I even have a melodic sound of true and honest laughter,

I adore the way I articulate and present myself,

like Eve sculptured from His creation.

I will wear out these handcrafted imperfections over time.

I am handcrafted, not by society nor by what it wants me to be.

I am handcrafted in the image of a goddess