They shunned me,
They belittled me,
They materialised me,
They criticised me,
They told me I looked ugly,
They told me I wasn't perfect,
They said I ain't worth it,
They said I ain't good enough,
They made me look small,
They made me look unimportant.
They though I was just another one of them teenagers,
Who would crumble in self hate and insecurities.
And I was.
But I changed.
Instead of looking in the mirror,
I looked at my achievements.
Instead of losing fat,
I gained muscle.
Instead of trying to fit in,
I became myself.
Because I knew that in a world full of hatred towards the 'ordinary' and the 'flawed',
Only I could love my imperfections.
Only I could appreciate the things that they wanted me to hate.
Things like:
Thighs that touched,
Stomach that bloated,
Curves that were small,
Height that kept on increasing,
Hair that frizzed.
Things that made me who I was.
Although imperfect,
That was me and it will always be me.
So in your face media,
You 'ideals' don't mean shit to me.
YOU ARE READING
My Painful Plea
PoetryI worry about things, and they make me cry. There are those days when I keep saying, why? I blame it on myself, for all that pain. When I got confused and picked the wrong lane. Poems I write, may mean no shit to you, but to me.. They're my handke...
