I haven’t always been this way.
Staring at the mirror, waiting for hours, hoping that somehow, the universe will decide to fix me.
To undo the damage from the minefield on my back, to wash the waves on my thighs away, to smooth my face out like it’s not a cork board pinned by red tacks.
To simply mirror what is shown everyday as beauty on a small portable screen.
To bless me with photoshop skin and a body to die for,
To let me be one of the beautiful things.
But I guess we aren’t all lucky like that.
And yes, I know, I do it to myself.
I scroll through fitness pages like channels, searching for the most appealing sight.
Trying to find myself in their invisible imperfections they have mastered to hide,
But I’m not the only one who grew up this way.
Who has been taught that self love is only for the slim thick,
That attention is given to girls with the best booty pic,
That my worth is based on whether I’m “that chick” or not.
You know, they say that actions speak louder than words and I thought for years, how could that be true?
But I keep being told empty lies like “you’re beautiful” and then shown beauty in one shade and size-
What am I supposed to believe? That somehow, society thinks I’m beautiful too?
We haven’t always been this way,
Worshiping washboard abs like they’re sacred text,
Obsessing over whether we’re the ideal fit for sex,
Praying that the world will love us a little more,
Will accept the fact that we are tired. We are depressed because we’re just not what they’re looking for.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that I am not just bone or muscle, that we bend ourselves over and backwards until we snap and still can’t fit into your mold,
That I can’t fix what I’m told is made wrong, that we aren’t your typical turn ons.
I’m sorry, mainly to myself, that I turned out this way,
Desperately hoping that one day, I’ll grow up to be just like them.
Perfect.