Who understands me but me

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.