Poems

Critique Sensitivity

Dear diary;

18:59, nov 29

Please tell me, why does it always seem,
That it's never really high; my self esteem.

See, I'm a bit tired this week,
People I know sometimes look at me like I'm some freak.

They always have critique,
Even if I technically already label them as antique.

Some things I desire are bad or taboo,
My body is apparently theirs to say what they want about, too.

I'm too this, too that - too little of that there,
Is it ever enough? It secretly makes me want to swear.

Usually, I don't swear; but nothing I do seems to be good enough,
They tell me I'm too sensitive, not even a bit tough.

'Your face is so pale again, you must start wearing make up.',
I know, I know - again, I politely nod and suck it up.

'Your legs are so skinny, it's not normal!',
I don't know where to look, my lip starts to tremble, and reply in a shy way that's formal.

'Your hair this way is better; a shorter way is wrong.'
Yes sir - yes ma'am, I hold back my tears and try to stay strong.

'Never take anything that's permanent on your skin, promise me!',
Funny, I grin, they don't know the scars that make their idea already impossible to be.

'We know what's best for you, okay?',
But don't you notice the sheer pain in my eyes when everything has to go your way?

Little bird locked in a small cage that has no space to move,
Teach me your ways; because everything I do, am and want - they disapprove.

I'm not some doll you can dress up the way you like and play,
Apparently, I'm the only one here that likes to enjoy youth in my own unique way.

So next time I decide over my own body because freedom is everything for me,
Just stay quiet, accept and agree.

Like I have done all these past years,

I am done, being held back by your fears.