Iambic Pentameter Poem (kind of)

I hate the way my skin is blotched and pink,
And the remnants of spots on my pale cheeks.
I wish my foundation stayed on my face
And that I did not need it there at all.
I wish my lips weren't always dry and chapped
And I wish my hair didn't fall straight down flat
(But I wish I had not cut my hair short)

I wish my limbs were not sharp and angled,
I wish the skin around my nails was soft.
I wish my wrists weren't skinny and frail
And I wish my skin wasn't so goddamn pale

Sometimes I wish my hair was dark auburn,
And that I reminded people of fall.
I wish I could scrape my hand through my hair
Without it looking like a messy nest.
I wish I smelt like honey and vanilla,
And wore soft knitted sweaters when it's cold.

But the truth is I'm not suited that way:
I look bad in mustard yellow sweaters
And drink more coffee than necessary
And wear too much monochrome and leather
Sometimes I wear floral skirts and dresses
And confuse the people who think I'm cool.
But really I just wish I wasn't tired.