Society takes its needle and thread
And tries to sew shut my imperfections,
Keep them out of sight,
“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” right?
But it all keeps coming apart at the seams,
Nothing stays inside for long,
My heart stumbles out of my chest and
Onto the ground,
Placing itself in front of someone
who doesn’t even understand her own emotions.
How can I expect her to love me if she doesn’t even love herself?
Not to mention my own self-esteem is in shambles,
Staring at the mirror and hating my reflection,
Plucking excess hairs in some places
While wishing there was more in others
What does it mean to be a girl?
Why does cutting my hair
make me doubt my own belonging within the female gender?
Society laughs mockingly at me and I stare back
Numb and unblinking because
I don’t feel that much anymore
I don’t feel much
except for the burning hatred for my body,
The way my eyes are too small
And my eyelashes too thin
They tell me I should sit up straighter
stop looking so sad all the time,
Make an effort to talk to people often,
But try not to talk too much because that’ll bore them.
What if once I start talking,
I just can’t stop
I can’t fit the tsunami wave of thoughts
into a one-hundred-forty character limit
It all just keeps pouring out of me again and again.
Aren’t the things about me that are “different” supposed to be the best things?
Because society tries to ingrain that into me
But then tells me the opposite,
“Be yourself” is a contradiction,
Promising that they’ll all accept me
until suddenly I become unacceptable
And all at once I’m feeling too much of one thing
and too little of another.
I want to wrap my arms around my body
Hug my brittle bones and
Tell myself that I am worthy, I am home
That “Pretty, desirable, and hot” are only adjectives
Invented by a society desperate to belittle each girl and woman and
Make her into nothing more than a pretty face.
But we are so much more than pretty faces.
I want to scream it from the rooftops, make it known to each little girl
That her appearance does not define her,
That we can be writers and doctors and leaders and astronauts,
Scientists and politicians and architects.
We are all these things and more.
When beauty is shoved down our throats
We will spit it back up into the
factory-made boxes that they have manufactured for us,
reminding them that
we are so much more.