A spoken word poem about society and self-esteem.
I have acquired a taste for a certain face,
that makes me feel comfortable in my own skin again.
A face that reveals the alter ego of the human race that I’ve never met before.
Because for so long I hadn’t known such a face existed.
Because the face I used to know critiqued every inch of me.
Told me to throw away the mirror!
Oh no, not because I needed to get a better one to see my beauty
but because he didn’t want me to break it.
It used to be a face of lies and a face of deceit.
A face of promise after promise, broken.
But not anymore because now you’re a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of my heel,
heels I could never wear because they made you look too short.
Now you are a speck of dust that just won’t go away.
Now you are a pest that bugs me everyday.
But now you are left without a damn word to say.
and I like the silence.
I like being able to hear my own thoughts instead of your toxic comments about my body.
If you hated my body that much, why the hell did you date me in the first place?
But that doesn’t matter anymore because now I’ve changed, like the seasons, my dirty slush has melted away and my flowers have bloomed.
I’ve changed, like birds migrating back up north, I’ve gone back to my roots.
I’ve changed. I was trapped in a cocoon filled with teen angst and low self esteem.
I’ve changed, I’ve broken out of that cocoon and built my own.
My cocoon has love and passion and confidence.
3 things their scumbag face never gave me.
But I’m glad.
I’m glad that I had to give these things to myself.
I’m glad no one told me that I had to love myself before I let someone else do it for me.
I’m glad no one told me that my self worth wasn’t based on what they thought of me.
I’m glad that my mistakes turned into motivation
and their mistakes turned into inspiration that lit my fire.
But every time summer comes around, the faces creep back into my life.
Only this time, I don’t know who they belong to.
Strangers staring, staring at my legs and my arms.
Don’t you think I know I have scars running up and down my silhouette?
Don’t you think I notice the stares I get from walking into a room,
not because of my gleaming smile
but because of what’s on my legs and for what I wear on top of them.
Because for so long the faces I saw were filled with disgust. Filled with “Is she really wearing that.” Filled “It just doesn’t fit your body type.”
What does that even mean? My “body type.”
Because last time I checked, my “body type” was human
and when’s 80 degrees outside, my body sweats and gets uncomfortable.
So yes, I like to wear shorts when it’s hot outside
and flowy dresses because I to twirl in circles like a damn princess.
I’m not sorry that my scars bother you
and I’m not sorry my chubby thighs, stretch marks and cellulite bothers you.
Because I know that, whether I have scars or not,
I know that I am beautiful with make up and without.
I am funny and it doesn’t matter if anyone laughs.
I am worth and there’s not one person who can tell me otherwise.
I have acquired a taste for a certain face that makes me feel comfortable in my own skin again
and that face is mine.