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"you really are beautiful, in your own kind of way", he says      as he spits through his teeth in what way is that, i wonder? in a way that can't be crammed into a size five dress? in a way that isn't actually aesthetically appealing? in a way that's too intelligent to find your misogynistic outburst colored flattery? he pushes the wire-like hair away from my face and wipes an angry tear from my freckled cheek      "see, all you have to do is try." oh, boy try yeah,      that's what i'll do so i can catch another in a long line of "men" who think i COULD be beautiful as if beauty is only one color      one size      one shape as if it can truly be measured with a bathroom scale and a hand-held mirror and can be purchased at a costly brand-name outlet in a shopping mall near you my mother's mother has an affinity for referring to my twenty-three extra pounds in a way that one refers to the neighbor's busted-down ford that needs towed away "oh, catrina, you really could be so gorgeous,      if you'd just get rid of some of your fluff." she pinches at my sides      and the backs of my arms      and the little curve at the tops of my thighs           just below my *** like i'm an over-stuffed pillow on her antique love-seat that's about to burst at the seems      should the seemstress not pull out the threads with her teeth and remove the unsightly over-fill like black-heads from a slender nose everything she buys me comes from a plus sized store      and wears a fat filthy double XL on it's tag considering that i factually only need a large i fight back my plump tears and wear a cheap smile as i give thanks i don't mean and kiss her on her heavily perfumed cheek      "oh, such lovely lips      why not a splash of lipstick?" as soon as i'm out of her home state i take the clothes back to the "big-girl" store and trade them in for pizza and beer money the girl behind the counter ironically weighs ninety-two pounds soaking wet and that's only if she's still got on her padded bra      slender      starved      sickly      and supposedly **** since when were curves a curse? and who the **** decided it was a good idea to pattent worth with a lipstick shade, anyway? no      no way i am beautiful without having to paint myself that way my existence is not defined by the shape i take my flaws and imperfections can't be remidied with any myriad of poking and plucking      nipping and tucking and all of my greatness and wonder sure as **** outweigh a tiny bleach-blonde ***** oh **** you      and that pretty little pony you rode in on i refuse to be pressed against a rubric and graded like a show-dog whose owner will only settle for best-in-show      and kicks his failure of a companion sharply in the ribs when he doesn't bring home another ribbon this obsession of society's is making us sick    we don't teach our children compassion and empathy      we instead instill their heads with talk of thread count      and color schemes      how to brush on blush      and how to pick a suit cute won't save the world i beg you sisters      please let us not give this disease to our daughters let us not allow our sons to carry the gene together      let's put to rest the ill-concieved notion of our beauty residing without us           rather than within let us never again bow down to the revlon gods of vanity together we are Woman      and we deserve to finally soar
0
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
an address to femininity; a call to slender arms.
"you really are beautiful, in your own kind of way", he says      as he spits through his teeth in what way is that, i wonder? in a way that can't be crammed into a size five dress? in a way that isn't actually aesthetically appealing? in a way that's too intelligent to find your misogynistic outburst colored flattery? he pushes the wire-like hair away from my face and wipes an angry tear from my freckled cheek      "see, all you have to do is try." oh, boy try yeah,      that's what i'll do so i can catch another in a long line of "men" who think i COULD be beautiful as if beauty is only one color      one size      one shape as if it can truly be measured with a bathroom scale and a hand-held mirror and can be purchased at a costly brand-name outlet in a shopping mall near you my mother's mother has an affinity for referring to my twenty-three extra pounds in a way that one refers to the neighbor's busted-down ford that needs towed away "oh, catrina, you really could be so gorgeous,      if you'd just get rid of some of your fluff." she pinches at my sides      and the backs of my arms      and the little curve at the tops of my thighs           just below my *** like i'm an over-stuffed pillow on her antique love-seat that's about to burst at the seems      should the seemstress not pull out the threads with her teeth and remove the unsightly over-fill like black-heads from a slender nose everything she buys me comes from a plus sized store      and wears a fat filthy double XL on it's tag considering that i factually only need a large i fight back my plump tears and wear a cheap smile as i give thanks i don't mean and kiss her on her heavily perfumed cheek      "oh, such lovely lips      why not a splash of lipstick?" as soon as i'm out of her home state i take the clothes back to the "big-girl" store and trade them in for pizza and beer money the girl behind the counter ironically weighs ninety-two pounds soaking wet and that's only if she's still got on her padded bra      slender      starved      sickly      and supposedly **** since when were curves a curse? and who the **** decided it was a good idea to pattent worth with a lipstick shade, anyway? no      no way i am beautiful without having to paint myself that way my existence is not defined by the shape i take my flaws and imperfections can't be remidied with any myriad of poking and plucking      nipping and tucking and all of my greatness and wonder sure as **** outweigh a tiny bleach-blonde ***** oh **** you      and that pretty little pony you rode in on i refuse to be pressed against a rubric and graded like a show-dog whose owner will only settle for best-in-show      and kicks his failure of a companion sharply in the ribs when he doesn't bring home another ribbon this obsession of society's is making us sick    we don't teach our children compassion and empathy      we instead instill their heads with talk of thread count      and color schemes      how to brush on blush      and how to pick a suit cute won't save the world i beg you sisters      please let us not give this disease to our daughters let us not allow our sons to carry the gene together      let's put to rest the ill-concieved notion of our beauty residing without us           rather than within let us never again bow down to the revlon gods of vanity together we are Woman      and we deserve to finally soar
Sparrowfreckles
Written by
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
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