Beauty Is Only Skin Deep

By: Judith Viorst

Why do I care about looking good
When it's really my soul that counts?
Does Golda Meir feel diminished because of dry skin?
Why can't I give up my glosses and gels
And retain my superfluous hair,
And try to rely on what's known as the beauty within?

How come I think that the I that I am
Is enhanced by shampoo and set?
Does Margaret Mead make herself crazy because of split ends?
And would she have run like a dummy to hide
In aisle nine of the Safeway last week
To avoid being seen with no eyeliner on by her friends?

Who would expect Madame Curie to tweeze?
Who would expect Joan of Arc
To go out and buy a new tunic before saving France?
I like to believe I'm a serious person
But sometimes my self-esteem rests
On whether there's more of my bottom than fits in my pants

It's better, I know, to be loving and wise
Than merely size ten and unlined
I mustn't forget where my ultimate value resides.
And surely a man like Paul Newman would want me
To have lots of beauty within.
But what could it hurt if I also looked gorgeous besides?