You have cut me up
and placed me beside other
shinier, redder apples.
you've given disapproving glares
and shaken your head,
arms akimbo.

You're trying to keep me in a box,
away from the "dangerous" world outside
but then you'd shake your fists
at my browning flesh
and putrid body.

I'm just an apple.
Why can't you see me for what i am?
I'm not the biggest
nor the juiciest.
I have yellow spots on my skin
and bruises on my flesh.

Why don't you love me?
Why can't you stop
comparing
and judging
and complaining?

You are my apple tree.
you made me.
Why can't you see
I'm trying
to be the best apple
that i can be?

It's not enough.
it's never enough.

I'm. Not enough.
and i never will be.

Falling for you is like
Falling to the bathroom floor
Foolish and clumsy I was
Slippery and painful it was
But I learned my lesson
And won't fall for you again

dear media;
my body is art.
**** your opinion and your ideals on what I should be
because I am living, breathing art.

my face shows young beauty,
inspiration and awe found in my eyes
and just beneath the pupil, a shimmer of excitement.

my lips have said so much, they seem to be so ripe with the words they speak,
they send daggers
yet stay plump and baby pink.

and what about my arms? they have endured so much,
every cut, bruise, and punch for a lonely night or the feeling of not being good enough.
they allow me to write my words;
hold those up plagued with the feeling of being alone
my arms, they are strong.

my stomach is like a mountain and
next time I'm in bed the man I'm with will understand as he
runs his fingers between every space of each rib and kisses my stomach,
down to my inner thighs and back up again.

and my thighs, still fresh and wild
dangle and jump at the mere sight of adventure
wrap around a mans waist to make him feel better and
kiss him on the cheek with the lips I spoke of before.

my brain will hold and absorb galaxies,
an endless universe unfolding before me and
i will take in each bit and dream of it at night because;

i am ambitious, diligent, strong and talented,
and yet I can still be
soft and caressed and fragile but,
media, society, never mistake my kindness for weakness because
i will take the food you feed me and spit it right out because
my body and mind is worth much more.

dear media;
my body is art,
and you will not be the artist.

conceptcollection