Somewhere along the way of scrutiny and time
I have been taught how to despise myself.
Look pretty, darling, so that you can belong to someone someday
Because that's what a woman really wants, right?
Oh, sweetheart, look pretty but don't feel pretty
Meet your skin and bones, hair and face
With conceited egoistic chorus
Sweetheart, self solicitude is a sin
Knowing how to wear joy is nugatory
If your body cannot wear that dress
Darling, you're the type of woman people don't look at
But they will stare at you if you don't follow their established echoic narcissistic accusations
You should mistake eyes for hands
Darling, why is your skin darker than an 'ideal’ for a woman
Why are your hair shorter than your dignity
Why are your thighs fatter than your brain
Why is your bra strap showing
Darling, why are you, you
Darling,
You are made up of metaphors.
Darling, why is there a face on your pimples, don't let hormones fingerprint your face
But don't worry we'll get it all fixed
You haven't seen the actual you in years but
Darling,
It's not about you.
Sweetheart put on some lipstick
But not that red one, it's too pretty for you
Put on some perfume
But not a strong one, you don't want to attract attention
Put on some eyeshadow
But not that bright one, doesn't suit your skin tone
Darling,
Change this physicality
Oh, and that one, too
But don't you dare show yourself
You don't want to insinuate the term beautiful in regards to
A victim
Or a snack
Or
A woman.
Darling, how old will you have to be to realise
You need a 40+ skin miracle cream and not a 30+
How old will you be till you look like a skeleton who pulled on some skin
How old will you be
Till you realise being a woman does not make you a man to be seen like a man is
You,
Are a woman.
Because we are taught to live in a world where media pulls us out from the womb and and teaches us our first words
Fair and lovely
Fair and handsome
Pinched pretty pinched pretty
Female thin calm pretty
Male manly bold pretty
Darling, you
Are not a constant
You, are a variable
But, darling, you are not looking for a casket of fortune
You don't look for a diet to slim your passion down
You don't look for a mirror to examine your dreams
Darling
You
Are a thought
You're an idea
A proposition
An abstraction
Or maybe that's what everyone else is looking for.

When exactly did I learn
that life was no cartoon?
The paradigm of life wasn’t just one traumatic incidence
because there wasn’t a scene to pause when I rewind
because (I might as well call myself
a careless traveller here)
because I don’t remember how exactly it has been
because depression
is a shape shifter
and anxiety is the cousin depression felt obligated
to invite at the party which I don’t want to be at.
‘Why don’t you try having fun?’
Do you not see that it’s not much fun having fun
when you don’t want to have fun?
Stop measuring pain with what eyes can see.
Depression is not a mood
and anxiety? It’s not the butterflies you get
in your stomach when you’re on stage.
It’s like every unspoken thought being pulled out of your ear
and being replaced with merciless fear
when there isn’t much space for happy.
It’s like the fingernails of the biggest clown of the smallest circus
being forced through your temples
and all you can do is stare at the dark walls
tightly hugging your fragile skeleton
and it leaves you wondering.
It leaves you wondering if you grew up painting them.

I cannot even look at the universe and shout
‘what is going on?!’
because I was told that sound cannot travel in space.
Or is the universe just playing games
because I can hear it shouting at me
at the top of its voice
I. Do. Not. Understand!
But neither do I.

How do I make myself understand
this feeling ?
This feeling of a spoon held in strong arms with loose wrists?
That I don’t need an ocean full of love
to bring flowers and plant them
in every windowsill of the house
that stands still when no feeling
gets out of it or goes into it?
How do I understand
When my body itself says
Error 404, Error 404, Error 404.