Maybe that's why I'm afraid
To let them get close
Because all they see
Are the imperfections on my face
They may have known me
For years from a distance
And suddenly they see me close
And they question the imperfections
That I've been carrying around
For six years or more
And it's not like I haven't tried
But these are now a part of me
And I'm aware of those
Little imperfections
Nestled in the cove of my eyelids
Dotting my face and it's okay
Somedays it's glaringly prominent
Because I don't make efforts
To hide who I am
Or what I look like
They look at my thinning hairs
Or my round belly
Or my wide hips
Or my fat arms
And get repulsed as if it's a sin
To be IMPERFECT...
When in reality it's more than just
Their flaws hiding behind makeup
It's society hiding the ugliness of its mind
Behind the guise of the pretty
Somedays I'm tired
Of the fakeness of 'beauty'
And of the expectations
To make the imperfections perfect...
YOU ARE READING
MUSINGS OF A SOLIVAGANT
PoetryJust like her solivagant mind wanders and the soft vernalagnia colors her cheeks, rosy - poetry swells from her inside. What her camera captures, spins words of hope and despair in her. Where the heart bleeds on to the paper, there springs poetry...
