It comes with the shame
Of trying to look like the women
I see on tv’s,
advertisements,
and all over social media,
It’s a generic response, I know, I’m aware
“But it’s just filters, it’s all in your head.”
But it’s seeing all of their smooth complexions,
Dewy skin
No imperfections
And their lustrous bodies
Curvaceous and round
In all the right places.
And the shame of looking in the mirror
Becomes a torturous endeavour of feeling
Inhuman,
Unworthy,
And disfigured.
And when the self mutilation
Coexisted with the shame,
I knew that this was like a razor,
Raping me until I turned blue and numb.
mind muted
Morphing into shame and guilt.
Until I was nothing but dysphasia,
Fucking screaming and wishing just how much I wanted to want to die.
I wake up
Walking on eggshells
Not knowing what burning will succumb.
Feeling the dread as the pain tightens like a noose around my naked body
Be perfect, be perfect,
It’s never enough.
An execution
As I am being laughed at,
Tormented
By the way I look
The way the excess hair
Makes you look manly,
Not feminine enough,
Who could ever fucking love you?
The deciduous vertebrae
Writhe into the holes of my insecurities.
Writhing into what makes me
Only a fucking human.