Pretty Ugly

What is that thing about us that makes us judge ourselves so harshly?

Is there always the pervasive link to abuse or could it be something more costly?

Could it be an internalized need to compare one to another?

After all, we look through countless pages of magazines,

Idolizing airbrushed beauties as we dream...

Lusting for perfection.

Unobtainable beauty, 

Life's worldly possession.

In essence we ARE already that beauty,

 We so desperately long to be.

As seen through the eyes of a stranger

A gentler, kinder, prettier persona of me.

Bits and Pieces

My eyes are too buggy.

My forehead too big.

My hair is unruly.

It looks like a wig.

 

My breasts are not perky.

My stomach protrudes.

Thighs shaped like tree trunks.

Accompanied by dimpled glutes. 

 

My skin heavily scared,

And stretched so tight.

Over the bulky frame of my girth,

Nothing shaped quite right.

 

My feet are to small,

As if unable to stand at all.

Slightly on tippy toe,

I've learned to lean just so.

 

A lingering stare into a mirror,

Loathing every bit and part of me.

A living portrait of my own worst enemy.

What ever will become of me.

 

One day most assuredly,
I will develop a healthier perception of me.

And I will stare into that mirror...you see,

With a brand new ability to love the entire me.

 

 

 

The Wake of Honesty

In the wake of honesty,

I am afloat.

Blocking the external,

Hearing internally,

Finding a remnant of me,

Only to see,

I am changing.

 

In the wake of honesty,

A surge rushes through my veins.

Light fills me.

I sit down to my computer.

And I write.

It doesn't sound like me.

Does it?

 

In the wake of honesty,

I charge through the thick,

Beating a path through pain,

Stepping out into the plain,

Someone’s in the distance,

There I stand,

Waiting…

 

In the wake of honesty,

Past transgressions reappear.

Shadows become clear,

Venomous words,

Hateful stares,

Beatings…rape,

Silence.

 

In the wake of honesty,

A life of lies undone,

Lost time returns home,

Filling the gaps of my youth.

Great strides have been made,

More ground gained.

But freedom's still light years away.

They Them Us Me

I want to share a poem with you. I wrote it last year. It gives way to a small measure of pain that emerged one night, very late. I didn't realize the pain was mine until I read the finished poem.


In the body of the poem you will see text in different colors. Each color represents a particular person/character. I will describe each person/character, so you can get a feel for the depth of this poem. It is difficult to translate feelings when done on paper. I will do my best to convey those feelings to you.


I am in the process of recording this poem. I've taken it to the studio once already, but a few of the character voices did not go well. My plan is to take it to the studio one more time and pray that everything falls into place.


Here are the characters of the poem:


Grey - shadowy dark evil male - heavy raspy voice
Dark Blue - friend or family member
Light Blue - shadowy evil female - soft hissing voice
Orange - Little girl 2 or 3 years old


I hope that you are able to imagine the voices while reading this poem.

They…Them…Us…Me

   

What’s that noise?

What noise?

Nevermind.

Where is it?

Find it!

 

Here I am.

 

It must be stopped…

Destroyed.

You want to destroy it?

Find it.

Wait!

 

There it is…

It?! Don’t you mean who?

Who?

Yes…

A little girl,

Girl…

Over there.

Where?

There…

 

Here.

 

Can you hear her?

No…

Can’t you hear?

No…

Listen…

NO!!!

 

We’ll destroy it.

Why?

We loathe it.

Why?

Not perfect.

 

Tear it apart.

Put it together.

Is she alive?

No…not really.

 

Yes I am.

 

Look at it!

Hideous, monstrous…grotesque,

A real life Frankenstein.

People will run and scream.

Don’t say that…she’s beautiful.

 

Retched!

Imperfect!

Undesirable…Unforgivably…Useless!

Worthless!

Abomination!

 

Not good enough.

Not like us.

Send it back.

Back to where?

We don’t care!

 

 You can have it.

But she’s yours.

We don’t want it.

But she’s here.

No it isn’t.

 

I am here.

 

We’ll get another.

Let her stay.

It’ll be better.

She’ll be good…I know she will.

We don’t want it.

 

Mommy…daddy? (echo)