She used to look and only see
A list of imperfections:
As though we were assembled, all,
From one set of directions

But she’s learned “image” is a game
That’s made for knaves and fools:
If you don’t want to join their club,
You needn’t mind their rules

For she is beautiful inside,
And so outside, she shows it —
There’s no perfection quite like hers,
And now, at last,
She knows it

no halfway measures:
love built on respect, or else
you can hit the road

In memories of words and ugly looks,
The pain still cuts her to the very bone:
The lonely hours with her many books
While staring at a useless, silent phone

The ‘now’ is so much better than the ‘then’,
But memories – they will come back again –
The cruel daily comments that would pass
With sneers in locker halls between each class

And while she always did have real, true, friends,
They were a very small minority;
A miniscule ad hoc sorority
Of other misfits, outcast odds and ends

    They fought for their ideals, outside the norm:
    The real cool kids, who never did conform