The speaker of "body" lists the ways she feels she fails to match what society calls attractive. Her hair isn't straight, blonde, or long. Her stomach, thighs, arms, calves, and cheeks are "too big." Her eyes aren't blue or green, her skin isn't pale, and her features aren't "flawless." The poem borrows the language of baseball, counting these as "strike one," "strike two," and "strike three," then delivers the verdict: "you're out." Beauty becomes a game she was never allowed to win.
The mood is tired and quietly bitter. The speaker repeats the insults she has heard ("she's ugly," "she's fat") and shrugs them off with a dull "blah blah blah," which suggests how often she's heard them. Short, blunt lines make everything feel flat and final. The ending is the most painful part. She asks why she still bothers trying, and the question sounds less like a challenge than like real exhaustion, as if she's worn down by a standard she can't meet.