I’ve got to sort this hair out,
It’s lately grew and grew,
Now chin and legs are crying out for taming,
Like the shrew?
The trouble is I’m not doing it,
To make myself feel better,
If I had my way I’d let it stay,
My armpits don’t feel wetter,
The hair I plucked from my top lip,
Re-grew bristly and fierce,
Luckily I don’t yet have this problem with my ears!
My legs feel softer with fine hair,
Not cold and goose-bumpy,
And before you ask, yes I do,
But just for little old me!
Now If I were a catwalk model,
Or a dancer you might see,
If you’d payed a lot of money to come and ogle me,
Then yes feel free to comment on what’s before your eyes,
But us ordinary women are not your bonus prize!
We’ll pluck and trim just as we please,
Won’t buy into these lies,
That to be a perfect woman you’d better have hair free thighs!
So if by chance you catch a glimpse of armpit hair or worse…
Don’t be scared, be not afraid,
It’s not an actual curse!
Just look away, don’t comment,
We’ve no need to empathise,
Continue the search for your airbrushed daydream…
Perhaps she’ll Sympathize