Her Self-consciousness

Hair didn’t want to stay in place,

Every pimple was like a volcano on her face.

Red shade of lipstick always seemed too dark,

Simple bruise to her skin would leave an ugly mark.

Early on mornings her voice never found its pitch,

Little uncontrolled jumps recurred like a nervous twitch;

Floral skirt she showed off was much too tight

Color highlights in her hair always seemed too bright,

Orange handbag matching nothing she wore

Never changed stockings with runs or socks that tore

She hid the prominent gap in her teeth,

Clothes didn’t hide what she wore underneath;

In a crowded room she always seemed lost,

On a stage she stood in the back, whatever the cost.

Usually she was uncomfortable in her own skin,

She was the biggest critic of what she was wearing.

Never once did she ever seem relaxed,

Except when she was getting her facial hair waxed.

So imagine my astonishment when they wanted a volunteer,

She shouted, “I’ll do it! As soon as the cameras get here!”