Poetry

An Illusion

I’m a very emotional person. I feel deeply, love deeply, think deeply, and empathize incredibly deeply. One way in which I choose to channel these emotions is through writing, specifically poetry. This was written in an analysis of my own views of myself, as well as how others’ views of themselves are shaped and twisted by the world around us, a society that profits off of our longing to be “better.” But there is no need to be better when what you transcend that longing…

 

For so long,

I failed to recognize my own beauty

Jealousy crowding my being –

Staring at others, trying to find

Some code

Some secret diet,

Some mathematical equation

That would solve the illusion

Tangled

Around

My thoughts.

 

So wrapped around

Every cell

That the only equation I could solve

Was

Self love = confusion.

 

Confusion

Because 4th grade me,

Innocent and undeserving

Of this delusion –

She thought it was cool

To suck in

Her stomach

Around boys.

 

Because 7th grade me

Entangled with delusion –

The best compliment she’d

Received was,

“That shirt makes you look skinny.”

 

Because skinny was in

 

Perpetuating the idea

Of happiness,

Dieting + doubt =  corporations making money

 

Thick skin?

Who wants to be associated

With anything thick

When we are all classically

Conditioned to believe

Skinny is healthy

Skinny is pretty

Skinny is what you

Need to achieve

We must look good, or face exclusion.

 

Who needs health

When corporations

Are full of wealth

But all you’re full of is

Diet pills

And self loathing

 

Decomposing

Rotting hope,

Dripping into our bones

As an IV

Feeding all of us

That are diagnosed with

Just wanting to be good enough.

 

The  sharp scream

Of self-esteem,

Cracking like broken bones

Echoes through my conscience

 

Systematically instilling

A sense of

Mediocrity, obtrusion.

 

With every judgement

Flows a mere sense

Of confusion –

Another stab at the

Mangled image you have of

yourself,

Now dripping with crimson red

Emotion.

 

Disregarding the

Effervescent cells,

Fighting for that mangled

Contusion.

 

Disregarding the fact

That no mathematical equation

Will solve this misconception.

 

Disregarding the fact that

P-r-e-t-t-y

A six letter,

Two syllable word

Has no right to dissemble

Your sovereignty.

 

You are more than a word,

More than the ephemeral

Judgements

Of yourself,

Worth more than anything

You could imagine

 

Because corporation’s wealth

Has no match against

Your preeminent health –

 

Something more than a fad

Something more than

A few calories and

Some fitspiration

Something more than

Just saying

 

You’re

 

Tired

 

When all your eyes are

Shouting

is

Help me,

I’m tired of this

Intrusion.

 

I never thought I needed

Strength,

Aren’t abs and

A toned body

Enough?

Get me out of this

Illusion.

 

Because saying you’re

Okay

Is easier than climbing

Piles of broken bones

Soaked in delusion.

 

But

 

Okay isn’t enough.

 

It won’t be enough

Until you’re standing

On that pile of

Broken bones

With the strength

And

Benevolence

Over some sort of dreary

Profusion.

 

In seclusion,

Will you let this misconstrued

Delusion

Lead you to action of

Admonition or

Degradation?

 

You are not

Pretty

You’re insightful,

Genuine

An indomitable creation of

Beauty

And passion,

In which comparison of

Oneself to

Another,

Concludes in inept examination.

 

There is no code,

No mathematical equation.

 

There is just you,

 

An undeniable light of beauty,

Tangled    in    graceful    effusion.

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