Forest Whitaker

There are somedays I wish
I were Forest Whitaker.
With a loud booming voice,
eyes like a child, and a
body the size of Oscar.
Not trapped in this petite,
pale skin that burns too
easily in moderate sunlight.
Arms too small to fill out
a jacket made for boys.
Slightly playful hair that
only stays in place with help,
and in most cases, a lot of help.
Out of shape and balding.
Maybe if I looked like
Forest Whitaker, people
would pay more attention
to me.