As it turns out I'm a 16 year old girl and write poetry sometimes.

I'm always here, I'm always there,
To back you up when things aren't fair.
When your out so long, and your girlfriends say,
That legs just shouldn't look that way.
That your bust's too small, that your hips're too wide,
That beneath the male gaze there's nowhere to hide.

And you come home and tell me true,
That no sane man would ever like you.
And I sit here and point out flaws,
That under a microscope are worse than 'Jaws'.
But on a normal day under normal lights,
You're a total 10 in those black tights.

But still it stings that would would think,
My undying love for you is hinged on clothes.
That how you show off your augmented bust,
Or how you swing your hips is a must.
Rather the girl I met, I must love,
Her pants that fit like a gossier glove.

It's human nature to judge by looks,
To pidgeon-hole by if they carry books.
That glasses or a fitted bra,
Matter more than if she can drive a car.
That my love for you, and it alone,
Would make you feel beautiful.