Battle of physique

In the battle of physique, she’s caught in the fray
Too dark or too light, they have something to say
Slim or fat, the critics weigh their disdain
Her very essence, a target for their pain

She strides with grace, like a model on stage
Yet labeled fake, trapped in a societal cage
But with tomboy steps, she’s deemed too rough
Her essence judged, never gentle enough

Her accent foreign, her grammar grand
Wanna-be they say, not understanding her stance
She dreams of flight, of freedom’s embrace,
But shadows linger, casting doubt’s trace.

Amidst the clamour, she yearns for peace
Solitude her refuge, where struggles cease
For the media’s gaze, defines her askew
A silhouette, imperfect, in their skewed view

In the battle of physique, she’s a warrior true
Defying labels, in all she pursues
For her worth isn’t measured, in size or in hue
But in the strength of her spirit, steadfast and true.

— © Chiamaka Ikeanyi
28/05/2023