BLOOM

women

we (women) exist beyond pomegranate lips and rose blushed cheeks, where our back arches when we stretch or how we drape our bodies like curtains. we don't always release a sigh that tastes like taking honey by the spoonful nor does our laughter sound airy and light.

the reality for (us) is funnily portrayed in comedy movies, where (we) have double chins when laying down, tired eyes from work with an oversized t shirt stretched across (our) chests. the natural display of a (woman) in her unshaven legs and goofy laugh is considered 'ugly', and the only acceptable method is a (makeover) where she will find love and (happiness). the ugly girl is considered funny when she eats junk food with loud lines of yellow stretched from ear to ear, it doesn't matter that she is happy.

in order for a girl (us) to be pretty, her lips should taste like sugar and her skin should be unblemished, she should be graceful with dreamy sighs yet this concept is alien to us. we (women) exist beyond our stretched bodies, uneven breasts and large noses. (we) are human beings with a beating heart. we are (more) much more.

we don't look pretty red faced with our lips pinched beneath our teeth trying to push a baby out, nor do we look like cats, eyes slanted in the early hours of dawn looking like (we) stepped out of a photoshoot. the truth is whilst we are (obsessed) with trying to be beautiful, we (forgot) how to laugh and the only time we (ever) laugh is through self deprecation.

if (our) bodies could speak, i would imagine they would plead and plead and plead for us to (stop) torturing it with deep melancholy that we wedge beneath our ribcage. we are the (only) ones slowly killing ourselves, because after all how can us (women) love ourselves when the telly reminds us to (starve) and wear makeup because god forbid if you let your eyes tell a story and god forbid if you show anyone that you're human.
because after (all), we are women.

(and) maybe sometime after this the honey will start to taste (slightly) sweet.