Le Mannequin dans la boutique

Je n’ai pas à être le mannequin dans la boutique,

Pour être belle.

Je vous jure,

Si le mannequin avait la vie comme je l’ai,

Elle dirait sans doute qu’elle n’est pas belle.


Pourquoi voulons-nous être le mannequin ?

Le mannequin mince et blanc !

We constantly claim and utter that,

That common phrase that lost meaning,

Like other thousands of words in oxford,

“Everyone is beautiful.”

Yet beautiful has been defined,

To suite one third of the world.

Defined such that,

We cannot stand to look,

At the “man” in the mirror.

The thin want thick,

The thick want less,

The curved want tangents,

Trying’ to play trigonometry outside class.

Tell me,

If we are all unhappy with who we are,

What makes you sure when you change

You won’t want more?

Or less?

Long hair,

Long nails,




Smize eyes,

Tight stomach,

Does this sound familiar?

That mannequin you saw in the store,


Tell me,

Est-ce que ta mère est belle?

Est-ce que ta mère ressemble le mannequin ?




Le mannequin over your mother?

Painted with gold,

Rinsed in diamond,

Framed on silver plate,

Worth more than a three million Jadeite.

Your tongue speaks life,

Your heart leaks of love,

Your words are hope,

The dwarves find you more,

More worth than the treasure with the dragon.

Why, then?

The mannequin?

Avez-vous d’être une statue à accepter?

Ce que vous réalisez,

Le mannequin,

N’a pas de la vie.

Elle n’a pas de langue,

Et pas de cœur ?

Je vous jure,

Le mannequin,

Veut-vous être.

What makes your mother beautiful?

Her love- we claim to feel.

Her struggle- we claim to see.

Her sacrifice- we claim to treasure

Her advice- we claim to follow.


The mannequin you saw yesterday,

In the Gucci store,

Ended up being your definition of beauty.

When you look in that mirror,

You convince yourself,

You are not where you need to be.


When I say you are not,


You want to throw stones at me.


Is it okay,

For you to abuse and look down upon,

God perfect masterpiece?

And wrong,

For me to show how he feels?

The anger-

The shame-

The loneliness-

You feel,

Tell me!

If that compares to the disappointment,

God feels from your ungrateful heart?

We have defined beauty ourselves,

But we desperately want to think otherwise,

Then blame the person next to us,

It’s all life routine.

You sit home with your girls,

Watch Kim, Nicki and Chyna,

Then watch Tyra, and Naomi,

Fill yourself with definitions of beauty,

Many that contradict themselves,

Stare at the mirror,

And stab yourself.

Your eyes too small,

Your lips too big,

Your arms too large,

Your breasts too small,

Your butt too big,

Your legs too short.

Everything disproportional.

Wanting more or less,

According to what you saw today,

Or hopefully the boy that likes you today.

Yet you shamelessly,

Give false hope,

To young girls and tough boys,

Tell them everyone is beautiful,

Regardless of color and size.

Turn your cheek,

And grow venom,

Don’t tell me I don’t know you,

I was you!

I am you.

The hole inside your heart,

Seeks attention.

Pleads for affection.

Lacks knowledge of God’s abilities,

To create beauty from dirt.

Not knowing you’re beautiful,

Creates the deepest hole within,

That is filled with the passing wind of lies.

A fire that is constantly ignited.

An illusion that is only a hand away from reality.

Only a whisper away,

You hear her say,

“Don’t call me cute, I’m no puppy.”

“Don’t call me pretty, I’m no Barbie.”

“I’m beautiful and nothing less.”

Then you’re too quick,

Too quick to judge her,

Too quick to label her stuck up.

More aside young girls to women,

Everything being a battle,

“Ain’t nobody got time for sister hood”

Every woman for herself.

The one that could change the definition of beauty,

Chose to continue the tradition,

Of the mannequin in the store.

We blame the men for it,

Our emptiness,

Our empty hearts,

My judgmental self.

I’m not an expert,

Neither am I perfect,

But this I tell you is the truth,

In entity.

God sees beyond what man sees,

Man looks at the outward appearance,

But the Lord rests at your heart.

Do not doubt his pride in you,

For after seven days of work,

He looked at you,

And at you,

He smiled.

What makes your mother beautiful?

Her heart.

Not the sway in her walk,

Not the glow on her skin,

Not the flow on silk on her,

Not the symmetry of her sides.

Her elegance,

Her confidence,

Her exquisiteness.

Yes, her confidence.

There’s nothing more beautiful,

Than a woman that knows her worth.

Le mannequin souhaite qu’elle vous était

Pour ton cœur.

Votre cœur fait le mannequin tourné sa tête.



C’est difficile de s’aime soi-même ?

Don’t tell me I don’t know you,

I saw the mannequin at the store too,

I was you.

I am you.

But I am trying to change.


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