I optimise myself at every turn and every moment
Wondering often if this is really a normal way to be…
To occupy a hyper aware, hyper sensitive state of being
Where the only concern in this ephemeral life
Is what people think of you.
The only fearsome, fret-worthy foe
Is how I’m perceived by anybody I cross paths with.
I feel desperate for vacancies under Beauty’s wing to open up
I tell her i’ll mold to anything you want me to be
Just make me the kind of pretty that’s universally acknowledged.
That’s impossible, she replies
And I don’t even dispute it, because I know it to be true
Yet I pound my fists against the wall and stomp my feet
Then why hasn’t my brain got the memo, I cry
Tears crawling down my cheeks like two Olympic sprinters
And I’m screaming now because how has one part of my chemical makeup
Not got the memo
While the rest is quick to accept.
I know nothing good can come of this conversation
Yet I still end up inviting Beauty into a meeting room every other day
To plead and beg for the impossible.
She charges me for her time and I leave with a bill the size of a jumbo jet
It gets paid in instalments
Which means I never reach the point of being debt free
Because this loop goes on forever.
Tag: body image
The cabaret of body dysmorphia
I spend all day twisting and contorting my features
To feel like an ounce of a human
Worthy of love, worthy of life.
I spend every minute feeling compelled to look my best
To every passerby
They could have a face like a foot
And yet I’d still seek to impress
Like a peacock riddled with cancerous boils who flashes her feathers
To hide the putrid, pus-caked skin
Clinging to her underbelly.
Every action is shackled to Beauty
Every head tilt, smile, stroll or expression
Doused in a sickly sweet, eager to please haze
Of self optimisation.
Sensible bodies
You used to make me feel like I couldn’t dress myself
Like every piece of clothing lurking in my wardrobe
Wasn’t fit for purpose
You swatted away every pairing I attempted
Frustration etched across your face, thick like butter
And marinating your tone
‘Of course that doesn’t go with that’
‘Gosh you’re useless’
‘Let me do it for you’
Choice escaped me, driving off
In a sedan car, roof open, wind tugging at carefree hair
Because no matter what I chose, you would berate me
Belittle me
Bemuse me
And suggest your idea was better
You made me feel like I couldn’t dress myself
Like every attempt I made was childlike
Like everything I picked when we went shopping
Was five years my junior
The result is a current questioning of everything I buy
From the t shirts to the shoes
To the dresses to the playsuits
I feel incapable of dressing myself
And knowing what looks good
Even when parcels from far-flung places arrive at the door
And I unwrap exasperated, excited
There’s something I’ve ordered that you dislike
And you’ll tell me, naturally
Why keep quiet after all these years
Why stop licking the nettle
Why stop hammering at my self-esteem
I can deal with the bile, the upchuck, the name-calling
Better than I used to
But it still stings like chlorine
And lingers like burnt toast
Gurgling in the pit of my stomach
Until the next parcel arrives.
talking to my pillow. 