Can she love herself?
No!
Why?
Because, because,
The world around her,
It personifies a false,
A false beauty,
It objectifies everything,
Look at this,
Look at that,
She's got no,
She has too much,
Her hair is,
But, that birthmark,
The world around her teaches, hate,
Teaches, judgement,
Teaches, others to demean others,
Demean them for what?
For what they view as less than,
As sub par to social acceptance,
As "ungly",
Yes, "UGLY",
There, it was said,
The truth hurts,
But, what is ugly,
UGLY is an idea,
The idea, that some feature,
Is undesirable,
That some feature, is not good enough,
NO!
UGLY, is the brokenness, of the poor soul that makes such proclamation,
UGLY, is the bully, that points out,
What they believe to be imperfections,
And then,
And then, gathers others to help in the persecution, of the accused,
As if the perfect person before them, could feel no pain, from the sharp words, that stab at them,
From the mean actions, and physical abuses,
That the bullies inflict upon them,
How,
How then,
Can she love herself,
She sees what they show her,
She only knows what their actions teach her,
She looks in the mirror,
And hopes,
Hopes, not to see what they magnify,
But, she sees it,
And she only knows it to be what they call it,
And just like that, she sees,
UGLY!,
And she hates,
She hates, her UGLY,
And the parents stand, helpless,
Stand, shut out,
Because,
Their, one million "you are beautifuls",
Fail to change,
To change, what she believes,
From one,
Yes one,
Group of bullies,
Proclaiming, otherwise,
Proclaiming as ugly, then persecuting,
And crushing, the spirit,
Of someone,
Who just needs love,
Not hate,
To love, the person in the mirror,
To love her perfect self!,
And then,
Silence,
Crimson silence,
Falls over her,
And you,
You suffocated the life out of her,
Erased her smiles,
Darkened her world,
Your words, your actions,
Were the razors,
That cut her from the cloth of life,
And why,
Because,
She only wanted,
To love herself!
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Of Heart & Mind
PoetryImagine, if you could verbally describe everything that you experience, and all that catches your eyes, as if you were artist capable of painting a meal so real you could smell it well enough to want to reach out and taste it! Well, this is my attem...
