On a poem roll - this one's on bodies and the meaning of beauty

In a world where it seems all the girls want to be thin
I was once the exception, so comfortable in my skin
And I had a LOT of boyfriends; quite the harlot in my day
"She's no better than she should be," a lot I knew would say.
But I was young and flirty and the boys all looked so good
And I really didn't give a **** for other people's "should"
Should be thinner, be less slutty, less confident, less free
Less inclined to boast, "He loved all fourteen stone of me."

Then I met the man who said, "I want that spare tyre gone"
That's when I started seeing flaws where once I had seen none
I asked him if he felt bad that he'd made me so unsure
So suddenly self conscious, so ashamed and insecure
He said losing weight was for me too, I could be proud of that
I said I always thought I looked good, till you told me I was fat.

Now I'm trying to remember how to love my curves again,
Remember how the beauty I see shining from my friends
Radiates from inside them and how sad it is to me
That they see flaws and cellulite; they can't see what I see
I'm trying to remember and reclaim that for myself
That the beauty that's inside me still shines through to someone else.

Please think twice before you're bitchy; don't jump to criticise
Consider that that person may be happy with their size
Would you want to be the one to plant the seed of shame
To start the toxic cycle of self loathing and self blame
That instead of teaching young girls how to be proud and walk tall
Says if you don't look a certain way, you're worth nothing at all.

Can we really not see that there's something so wrong
With a culture that can't compute different AND strong
That can't stand to see those that don't fit have self worth
And makes damn sure they tumble right back down to earth
That assassinates character based on a body
That says fat equals lazy, defective and shoddy

So I say to you all, boy or girl, fat or thin
The cliche is true: beauty comes from within
It comes from your strength and your heart and your mind
It comes from being loving; it comes from being kind
In a supermodel world where body shape is bought and sold
And if you've got the money, well, you need never get old
Let's unite: fat or thin, black or white, tutti or frutti
Gay or straight, trans or 'other': we are all FULL OF BEAUTY

A quite depressing poem about poverty and austerity and the ConDems and shit with a bit of mental illness thrown in

The country's in pieces, and so is my mind
or maybe I'm just a particular kind
You'll have heard of my sort in the Sun and the Mail
An apparently simple morality tale
Of "parasite lifestyles faking depression"
So ok, here it is, signed and sealed, my confession.

Yet I ask, if you think you know all of our ways
Have you ever made ten pounds last for ten days?
Have you blinked back tears so the children don't see
And wondered just what you can buy with ten pee?
Have you ever dreaded the knock on the door
Demanding a payment due six months before?

Do you think I would choose to feel scared all my days?
Now it no longer matters what my doctor says
To have hostile strangers poke inside my head
And say yes she's mental, but quite far from dead
Perfectly able to work for no pay;
She better, or we'll take her money away.

I quite often think I'm not crazy at all
It's the natural frustration of that thousandth call
The thousandth dismissal, the thousandth same lie
It'll be in on Tuesday; and oh yeah, pigs fly
The natural anger that though we are poor
When all else is gone they will still take some more.

I am a person, just like any other
We're all someone's daughter, a friend, someone's mother
We live and we love and we try to survive
And I'm sick of the system that eats us alive
But what makes me burn is the lies and the slander
Please look past the labels, the cruel propaganda

To see the truth of the ConDem lie
And then just maybe you'll ask just why
Why punish the poor and the sick and the lame
As if we're just pawns in a rich boy's game
The truth is ugly, but still beats a lie
Don't blame the victims; hear our cry.

Don't give in to the impulse to turn on each other
We stand shoulder to shoulder and sister to brother
If the love in our hearts dies, that's when they have won.
But that day's not here for me, my fight's not done.
I won't call people scroungers, or workshy or skivers
I call them my people; I call us survivors.