Woman, girl, child,
Be pretty to be treated fair
So the child learnt the lesson,
Passed it on to the girl
Eventually, it became a stone lodged in the woman's throat
Some days, it is easier,
To swallow water and drops of nectar,
Around that small crevice,
Trickling down and filling the void
Other times, the stone lodged in the throat,
'Tis on the precipice, about to fall deeper
It's not enough anymore to feel pretty,
Everyone needs to echo that truth
You paint your face
You are an art
But you paint your face,
And people fantasize about the bare canvas,
The bare canvas and its white blandness
So, you remove the paint,
Proving the beauty embedded in the canvas
Some see it and still hold you close,
And some mock your existence as an eyesore
Now, you're on the precipice,
Falling deeper into the hole
You fought so hard for that first ray of light,
And the world around you
Fights to shun you to that familiar darkness
Woman, girl, child,
Be ugly and treat yourself fair
The child didn't learn the lesson,
Nor did the girl
But the woman learnt,
And repeats it each day
And oftentimes these days,
She's able to swallow gulps of water,
And the stone has shrunk into a quarter of its size.

YOU ARE READING
A budding writer's collection
PoetryJust a bunch of poems written as and when I feel to write them