What is beauty?
In the dictionary it's what the eye finds pleasing,
but in our society it's really just demeaning.
What is beauty?
Is it jewels and gold,
Is it to be colored big, bold.
What is beauty?
She utters poking at stretch marks that litter her stomach,
As the continual message of demeaned beauty runs amuck.
She does not see that beauty, she doesn't see her gift, she doesn't see until she stops eating all together that
Beauty.
Plastered on magazines, written on every damn wall, etched into the very skin of our eyelids.
Beauty.
Toxic ideals ripping through paper thin walls, screaming at our every fault it finds with invasive eyes.
Beauty.
She quietly turns into a shell of the girl she was, a shell.
Because looking like that model is worth going through hell.
Worth putting her body through hell, worth pushing away her food, worth never wearing her favourite bathing suit because if the world saw the marks that covered her abundant thighs that society has deemed as ugly the game would be over, she would have lost, so she continues and continues until
Beauty.
That dripped from chapped lips, that scorned the very day we looked in the mirror and thought, "No". Don't tell me I am wrong, don't tell me that there is beauty in everything we see, don't tell me to love my self when I have never seen a 'beautiful' women look like me.
Don't force out a half assed compliment through gritted teeth, while you survey my skin, my stretch marks, my rolls. Well I got news for you, those aren't stretch marks, those are lightning bolts.
they are marks to prove my growth, to prove my worth, I am a daughter of a mighty god of thunder and I am above your obscure mortal standards of beauty, I am above looking in the mirror and thinking no, instead I shall paint every mirror in this sorry world with one word.
Yes.
YOU ARE READING
random write s
General Fictionjust some random stories and imagines, Rights are reserved. The ideas are mine though, so please don't steal them. Same goes for my characters
