05-08-2013, 09:49 AM
Society's Desire
The perfect girl,
the girl I never was.
An adorable baby
who giggles and shrieks at all things pink,
who twirls and dances with barbie dolls
and dreams of becoming a princess.
Daddy’s little girl
bouncing in a deep purple velvet dress.
Crawling out from beneath her dress,
perfect white tights contrast with black, shiny shoes.
A single silver buckle confines innocence
and atop her head, a proportionate white bow holds up
society’s desire.
The perfect girl,
the girl I will never be.
Long, soft, blonde hair that waves with every whisper of wind,
hair so blonde
it blinds.
Brilliant blues eyes that sparkle with every white smile,
eyes as blue as the sea
that suffocates.
A body as tan as it is thin,
a body so tan
it burns
into a body so thin
it collapses
into desolate destruction.
Death thrives
in such destruction.
Death lives
in the wasteland where the skeletons of women who have finally given up
snap beneath every step
and resentful ashes rise from the earth,
closing my throat,
creeping into my lungs,
and whispering sweet promises to be fulfilled if only I would join them.
Cries for help are engulfed by the silence
of slight winds that raise hair as flesh crawls.
Society desires the girl I hate myself for not being.
Words like rocks
shatter glass
break me
smash mirrors
ripping pictures of my forced smile
surrounded by friends and family
into shreds.
I am running out of strength to put myself back together,
but I continue to try
and try
and try
without ever tasting success so sweet my mouth waters at the thought.
Instead, it is the putrid taste of failure
so sour it puckers my face
that assaults my taste buds on a daily basis.
Angry black nails retaliate,
tearing into my thin, all too white flesh
until red life flows,
finally free.
Rough, but subtle scars mark the worst of times.
The times when endless tears run to escape
feelings of self-loathing and disgust.
The times when endless tears run to escape
society’s desire.
Walking down an empty suburban street,
not even a year ago,
uncomfortable in my own skin.
Wanting nothing more than to leave my mark
on the quaint town that I grew up in.
Where birch trees guard the sidewalk from speeding cars,
where everybody knows everybody and yet,
I feel completely alone.
Muffled laughter floats like soft music
from the glowing houses of happy families.
Dark crevices divide the sidewalk
as gender divides the world.
My foot lands on every crack
in hopes that one day,
I can shrivel into nothing
and slip, unnoticed, into the infinite void.
Cold air wraps around my insecurities.
Teeth chatter and fear talks back.
It stalks my every rushed and vulnerable step.
Look in front of me,
look behind me,
right
left
right again.
Wrong.
Smiles and lies have been the key to my façade,
to my disguise necessary to survive.
No one can hear the truth,
no one will listen.
But words spill onto paper for the first time,
to speak my truths
and to break my silences
without the overwhelming fear that
beats my heart and pumps my blood.
My silences have consumed me for too long
and I have not much time left.
To exist like this is death.
You have witnessed a moment,
a moment in which I have released the fear of being seen.
See me.
Listen to me.
I am not society’s desire,
but I am me.
I will raise my children as I wish someone had raised me:
to be strong and independent,
to be benevolent and passionate,
to be who you want to be inside and out,
to be a woman.
The perfect girl,
the girl I never was.
An adorable baby
who giggles and shrieks at all things pink,
who twirls and dances with barbie dolls
and dreams of becoming a princess.
Daddy’s little girl
bouncing in a deep purple velvet dress.
Crawling out from beneath her dress,
perfect white tights contrast with black, shiny shoes.
A single silver buckle confines innocence
and atop her head, a proportionate white bow holds up
society’s desire.
The perfect girl,
the girl I will never be.
Long, soft, blonde hair that waves with every whisper of wind,
hair so blonde
it blinds.
Brilliant blues eyes that sparkle with every white smile,
eyes as blue as the sea
that suffocates.
A body as tan as it is thin,
a body so tan
it burns
into a body so thin
it collapses
into desolate destruction.
Death thrives
in such destruction.
Death lives
in the wasteland where the skeletons of women who have finally given up
snap beneath every step
and resentful ashes rise from the earth,
closing my throat,
creeping into my lungs,
and whispering sweet promises to be fulfilled if only I would join them.
Cries for help are engulfed by the silence
of slight winds that raise hair as flesh crawls.
Society desires the girl I hate myself for not being.
Words like rocks
shatter glass
break me
smash mirrors
ripping pictures of my forced smile
surrounded by friends and family
into shreds.
I am running out of strength to put myself back together,
but I continue to try
and try
and try
without ever tasting success so sweet my mouth waters at the thought.
Instead, it is the putrid taste of failure
so sour it puckers my face
that assaults my taste buds on a daily basis.
Angry black nails retaliate,
tearing into my thin, all too white flesh
until red life flows,
finally free.
Rough, but subtle scars mark the worst of times.
The times when endless tears run to escape
feelings of self-loathing and disgust.
The times when endless tears run to escape
society’s desire.
Walking down an empty suburban street,
not even a year ago,
uncomfortable in my own skin.
Wanting nothing more than to leave my mark
on the quaint town that I grew up in.
Where birch trees guard the sidewalk from speeding cars,
where everybody knows everybody and yet,
I feel completely alone.
Muffled laughter floats like soft music
from the glowing houses of happy families.
Dark crevices divide the sidewalk
as gender divides the world.
My foot lands on every crack
in hopes that one day,
I can shrivel into nothing
and slip, unnoticed, into the infinite void.
Cold air wraps around my insecurities.
Teeth chatter and fear talks back.
It stalks my every rushed and vulnerable step.
Look in front of me,
look behind me,
right
left
right again.
Wrong.
Smiles and lies have been the key to my façade,
to my disguise necessary to survive.
No one can hear the truth,
no one will listen.
But words spill onto paper for the first time,
to speak my truths
and to break my silences
without the overwhelming fear that
beats my heart and pumps my blood.
My silences have consumed me for too long
and I have not much time left.
To exist like this is death.
You have witnessed a moment,
a moment in which I have released the fear of being seen.
See me.
Listen to me.
I am not society’s desire,
but I am me.
I will raise my children as I wish someone had raised me:
to be strong and independent,
to be benevolent and passionate,
to be who you want to be inside and out,
to be a woman.