POV: A woman

~By Cira Bodhi

Imperfection, she called herself; her name often tagged, her beauty was pure; jealousy and hatred, the perfect body to adore; something the sort of tiny and petite; corsets and their tiny lil’ waists, thick thighs were not allowed to touch; as we embrace to look thin, our features lie not true; attraction to a perception, first glance, true love, judged am I upon my appearance; pretty privileges; hair on legs considered manly; I cannot live in my wrath; a hoarse voice known not as feminine shall be soften; scars my experience from what I learned is ugly, the body like a porcelain doll desired and shapened by men; what society is this, the living to which everything is limited, flat-chested like a wooden board, no butt; a mole would perhaps enhance my face, the lips not to tiny, not to big, just the right for a perfect kiss; straight hair as plain as can be, some fair curls to volumize the size; tiny feet scrutinized to be elegant; and all those filthy meager lies told by “them”; to be as “perfect”; to be that women, the one all loved and cherished; the one made by the society, never have I truly loved myself…