It's What's On The Inside That Counts

Inside my skin, I’m pretty sure

There’s nothing pretty or demure

My uterus, I must confess

Has never worn a cocktail dress

My large intestine doesn’t groom

My kidneys never wear perfume

There is no makeup on my spleen

And if you happen to have seen

My bladder, then you’ll be aware

It sports no curled and blow-dried hair

I'm not like that, I'm not that vain

I don’t put brain-rings on my brain

Nor do I ever take the pains

To put nail polish on my veins

My cervix has no fancy hat

There are no sparkles in my fat

My lymph nodes have no frills or bows

My lungs don't wear designer clothes

And my appendix owns no pair

Of heels or frilly underwear

I'm also pretty sure my heart

Does not look stylish, chic, or smart

I know we’re living in a world

Where all is painted, primped and curled

And I might hear a few ‘tut-tuts’

Because I don't adorn my guts

But let them gossip, let them scoff

I’m loud and proud; I’ll shrug it off!

I'll…what? You say it isn’t rare

For one to leave one’s insides bare?

My words will earn no social clout?

I’ve nothing to be proud about?

The fact is I’d be more unique

If all my guts were groomed and sleek?

Oh. In that case then I guess
I’d like a uterus cocktail dress.