You call me beautiful,
but the only beauty you see is
the dip of a neckline,
the shade of a lipstick,
the length of a skirt.
Please, tell me I'm not
skinny enough, my hips are
too wide;
go on about how my hair needs
to be longer and my waist smaller,
my heels higher and my voice softer.
Say my skin isn't clear enough, my nails
are too short.
I am a material thing,
dressed up
like a doll, a Barbie.
I am not a woman, but
your plaything.
You want me to talk less and listen more,
when all I want to do is scream.

Time and time again it seems
The heart was made to cry and scream
And though our weary eyes do gleam,
We sleep alone again

Poetry.
There is no friend so fickle.
No creature on earth more heartless.
No obsession as inexplicable.

Pick up a poem, and begin to read.
With no idea what to expect.
It could leave you in tatters or instill in you joy.
But most likely it’ll have no effect.

Most poems are forgotten,
Though some stand the test of time.
Their author's corpses have long since rotten.
Yet they are still recited. Line by line.

Regardless of what these poems do to you.
Once they have finally been fully perused,
Admired, discussed, analyzed, abhorred
Annotated, dissected, debated, explored
They are still exactly the same:
Indifferent to your pain.

A poem is nothing but ink on a page.
It is utterly devoid of life.
It is no more dynamic than a forgotten age
It cannot comprehend your strife.

A poem and a man are unequally yoked.
So do not throw away your heart.
Our hearts belong to each other and to God alone.
Let not the lifeless drive us apart.

Poetry can be a pleasant distraction
But it must never be anything more
Than a mirror that we use to improve ourselves,
Lest we forget what we are here for.

You tell me you’ll never be
A famous dancer—
—or a supermodel

Nor the century’s next
Glorified *** symbol
Frustrated teenagers
Will never visualize
The curves of your *******
As they ruin your cutout
With their discarded spawn

—Tho’ I am not certain
As to why you would frown
Over such a fact

You tell me you want to be famous
And I ask you why
And you don’t know

I ask you what famous even means
And you shrug, not sure yourself
But you still want it nonetheless
You need it to prove
Something you’ll never understand

Like ice cream
For the ego

I’ll ask the entire globe
And still no one will ever know
Why they have this desire
To be worshipped by all
To have a million arms
Catch you as you fall

But you will never need them
For my grasp is stronger
And my devotion is longer
Perhaps it will last forever
And perhaps longer than that, too

You do not need
To master the world
You do not need
To even be great
At a single thing

You are great enough for me
And I will always be
Your number one fan

Just as long as you continue
To be your own
Human being…