about being a girl - a poem -
April 23rd 2016, 05:46 PM
they told us as children that our body is for more
than simply being looked at for mere beauty.
and now that we’re older they look with disgust,
and are repulsed because our body contains “nudity”.
why do they bother to tell us we’re “so beautiful”,
then try and bury ourselves beneath their modesty.
they tell us to save our loveliness for the chains of marriage,
even though they never even fulfilled their own prophecy.
they say our body should be admired for its greatness,
and then lock us away in layered cages of clothes.
they shame us for desiring the disgusting “undesirable”
and tell us “our body is a secret even we shouldn’t know.”
she was revolted at the boy who stared at my body
but instead turned it on me for having a butt.
so imagine if she knew of the boy who actually got to use my body,
would she just blame me for being such a slut?
pictures of my so-called “beauty” nauseated them,
and i was cast upon the bloody fires of hell.
so it’s hilarious that i got away with self-murder,
because i know they saw bloody pictures as well.
and oh, deliciously, delicate irony;
how i snicker at your under-appreciated crime.
for the humorous fact they blame me for this,
when in reality, their blame was never even mine.
they allowed him, for years, to dissect my body,
casting blades into the millions of my flaws.
so when the cure was fuckboys calling me “beautiful”,
then isn’t his curse of “fat and ugly” the cause?
because if it took letting a player have his way,
and getting away with his crime in the end.
isn’t it your fault for condemning a skank,
to feel this is what her heart needed to mend?
funny how your attempt to chain me to religion,
was the very reason i came across the agnostic door.
hilarious how you shamed the slut to crucifixion,
when the virgin never wished to become a whore.
oh they tell us our body is not meant for beauty,
and i guess they proved that to be right.
for in being a girl, our body is for more than your judgment,
it’s for fighting against your ever-so-ignorant fight.
go along with your life of religion and rules,
and living as a stuck-up, guilty prude.
i’ll join the others labeled “slut” “skank” and “whore”,
for this is our body’s “beautiful”, in the nude.
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for some reason, something in this poem doesn't seem right. lately i haven't been able to write to the extent i wish to, or to get my point across in the way that i want. i haven't been able to really say everything i mean to... i don't know, but i think i lost my writing for a bit. :/
probably mostly writer's block, as i've kind of ran out of things to write about.
i don't know what i'm supposed to do haunted by the ghost of you
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