Pretty

There’s a fine line between pretty and sl**
You have little chance at becoming either she tells me
I may not be pretty but I know how to fake it

My body doesn’t match my face but at least I still get wolf-whistled at by drinking boys
I exercise some control over this mash-up of parts with hunger and overdone workouts
I may not have the legs but I know how to walk
My chest may be three letters too small for your taste but I’m no prude and my waist is the
reason they got rid of corsets but I still have a cage around my heart

But her standards twist my attempts at pretty into wh***dom

Pretty is having three hundred dollars worth of foundation, eyeliner, and lip gloss decorating my
vanity
And no, not as in my ego
Pretty is knowing how to wield these weapons to make me look like a godd*** oil painting
Just don’t find this blank canvas or you’ll scream Dorian Gray

Yeah as in the book, because whatever my face isn’t my mind sure is
We all make up for our faults somehow

Pretty is knowing what clothes distract from my face without a trust fund
But sl**s know how to do that too

There’s a fine line between pretty and sl**
You may have crossed it she tells me