If I stare closely at your tall cheekbones, fluttering eyelashes, and full luscious lips, will I discern your imperfections, your thoughts, feelings, ambitions, hopes and dreams?
     

Will I stop and stare or will you be so common that I will walk by without even a fleeting glance?
   

 I don’t want to see marble skin, plump lips and straight teeth. I already know that you are beautiful.  I already know the one next to you is beautiful. So is the one after her. I already know that I would give anything to look like you.
     

But would I want to be you?
     

I would if you let me in. Let me know that you have pores that decorate your skin, blemishes left as battle wounds and curves in all the “wrong” places. Such ornaments are part of my body, but I cannot wipe them away with a click. I must learn to balance them on my body without collapsing, to accept them even though my traitorous thoughts harass me.
     

I want to know how you wear them. I want to see you stand straight and tall as if giving the world a taste of your power and asserting that you are even more beautiful now that you have accessorized.
     

Although one word separates “model” and “role model” it is the latter that I want to see.