They say I must fit a certain mold to be acceptable in society to be fit for love to be lovely and desired. They say I must be at least 2 inches taller if I want to fit into regular size jeans instead of my petite ones. They say I must cover up my tattoos in order to fit into a corporate business world. They say I must color my grays if I want to stay looking younger than I actually am. Who understands me but me when I look in the mirror and apply eye repair cream to keep a youthful appearance and crows feet away for another day. They say I must shave my legs and balk at the sight of a stray hair. Who notices but me. Am I my worst critic or is society hounding me to contort to fit into a mold that was not shaped for me or for any individual for that matter. Yet we must if we want friends if we want to stay employed if we want that paycheck. Put on a little lipstick and wear some heels. Who understands me but me when I wear flats and thank my toes and feet at the end of the day for holding me up and taking me where I want to go. Who understands me but me when I see the start of white grayish roots and comb my hair to cover it over until my next hair appointment. Who understands me but me.