Why must it be my responsibility to mold my body to amuse the desires of men?
I have carved away at the flesh that you applaud to see fall at my feet as I stand ashamed, bare, and grieving.
Too, I have piled on the weight of your words so my hips widen and curve.
My feet grow swollen as my happiness bleeds through my soul to the ground.
For me to taste the salt that falls from my eyes, that is my torment, yet still, you lick your lips that ooze with greed.
This is a different kind of defeat.
I was taught to be fierce and allow the femininity in me to show no mercy to men who hold numbers next to my name.
But here I am, standing with my ear turned to the mouth of the monsters.
I am learning how to morph my skin around my frame to please the buyers, quite like pottery.
And no matter how many people lay support in my crumbling hands for me to grasp, It plunges through my fingers like paper through a shredder.
What have I become?
YOU ARE READING
Whispering Words
Poetry"Each poem that stems from my fingertips will root themselves into this book. Sweet or bitter, they will remain here for my readers to enjoy".
