i told him i just wanted to feel pretty
sweet, of course you're pretty
you know that you're pretty
and i do
but there is a difference
between knowing it and feeling it:
i know the way men look at me
the way their eyes always hover over me
filled with some unwanted fantasy
i know i make them hungry
hungry enough to practically devour me
and ravenous enough to not care
i know every lustful thought they've ever had
it's branded on this stupid soft skin
it's burned into every part of me they've reached for
and they've reached for everything
—so yes i know i'm pretty.
but pretty isn't supposed to be this way:
when i felt pretty
i felt pretty
like i could be every good thing
wrapped up in a pink bow
like i was full of sunshine and sunflowers
like i really was made of sugar and spice
and every beautiful thing
when i felt pretty
i felt like a girl
like a real girl and not a gift
not a rose or a doll or a body
i felt like every shade of pink
and red and blue and yellow
and every color in existence—
and now i just feel gray.
now all the good things have drained out of me
i barely even feel like a girl
i barely even feel like a person.
—so, no i don't feel pretty.
not even close.
and i want to explain that to him
but i don't.
sweet, of course you're pretty
you know that you're pretty
and i just nod
because that's what pretty girls do.
YOU ARE READING
wilting roses
PoetryAnother collection of (bad) poems. *tw: mentions of sexual assault, drug use, drinking, suicidal ideation and self harm* -a collection of poems that document my experiences with my mental health throughout high school. a warning: i had a few undiagn...
