Words are pushed and prodded and punched into my mind like ingredients on a chopping board.
They are forced to take action and plunder into oblivion just so only the most decent prevail.
I am constantly scooping, scoping, scavenging for the ones that glitter, in order to prove myself worthy of a sinner.
Their eyes search my naked body, my bare breasts, my bland back. My breathing is shallow.
Smiles fade as I feel the weight as they admire the shape and transpire their hate.
Hair won't stay, eyes astray, hips never sway. Pens click as they complete the survey.
Unsmiling faces smile, sweet words fill the air with sour smirks.
I nod my head, tears unshed. No time for rest.
Late nights name me restless as hunger gnaws at my nails.
The nails that click away at the keyboard and scratch away at paper until all is perfection.
Those marks, made by a mad women I call Miss or Mr muster more pride than the itch at the very top of my legs where I drew pictures with a knife.
My limbs a canvas for the countersuggesting children that call for wealth and wonder when they deem my delights of academic "undyingly boring"
Their eyes bore into my brain as I follow their ways try to rephrase my words, my actions, my nerves.
Who I am is pushed and prodded and destroying and muddled for I desire to lay my eyes upon the lifeless forms on the thin surface of the latest addition.
My eyes search over my boneless body, my basic breasts, my bulky back.
I survey myself, others. I define beauty with my mind closed and my eyes open.
I depict my intelligence with a stressful night of jamming and scrunching and scratching facts into my mind that I will forget after I have handed them in.
My intelligence and beauty got lost in translation as I took the surveys and tests.
The marks on that paper, on your thigh, on your heart will never define who you truly are.
You are beautiful, no matter how apart.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Of All Sorts
Poetry- Book One Of My Poetry Series - Throughout life we morph and change depending on the things we see and the experiences we exchange. Poetry has been my refuge whilst taking on the small battlefields of adolescents. So I give to you, the beating h...
