Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
birdy May 2022
My body was art --- not to your taste,
you covered me in criticism.
Your words molding me like clay
until the mirror reflected a shell.

The child inside,
forever lost.
sofolo Feb 2021
A man I once loved told me he wished I “cared more about my body”
But I do care
I care for every lump and curve as much as I hate them
As much as he hated them

I remember yearning for puberty
A thing to make me tall
And thin
A biological fix for my

Does he know the history?
The gain and loss
The bullies
The pushed-into-puddles
The nightmares

I despise the power of his lips
A lover disfigured
That’s the vibe
His words birthing a mantra of shame
And I’ll never outrun this skin

Thirty years later
And he’s pushing me into a lake
No principal to save me this time
No dry clothes

He left me years ago
Found a much thinner replacement for my side of the bed
It’s for the best
I tell myself as I drunkenly throw rocks at his window

“Don’t think
Just eat”
Is this just a game I play?
Three glasses of whiskey and a Postmate
Won’t chase the horror away

Momentary pleasure
(add guacamole)
Is that enough?
Will I ever be enough?

I am too much
Too much skin
Too much softness
Too many folds
Too much of me is filling up space
That’s what they tell me
I see the reflection and I hate all of this excess ME

“I wish you cared more about your body”

What is the remedy?
A perfect diet
A perfect exercise regimen

Think before you speak on a body, sir
Because your words alone
Have the power to ignite a hell

His venom is still pulsing through me
And I’m burning up
I want to escape
Crawl out from the water
Become pure wind

But how do I love me?
How do I allow myself to occupy space?
To stop hiding from every mirror, every glance at the ocean of my belly?

I don’t know
I’m not there yet
I am on an opposite shore consumed by self-hatred
Longing to set sail for somewhere

Somewhere I can cherish the secrets that these sacred ripples of flesh hide
Where my waistline is a treasure map of my wisdom
A place where his words have no power
Where I collapse into the sunset and set myself...
Priyadarshini Jul 2020
They ruined my honour under their feet,
They hunted a girl passing through that street
Empty roads remind me the day I was all alone on that rainy day .
Walking through the wet road
I got the signature of "shameless" on my notebook.
When I found a foetus inside me
I was a hot topic in the society
I find myself all alone on the road full of people
There sharp eyes sees my body figure.
I wish I had died in the hospital.
Now I am dead writing this with a great regret
It was not a suicide
I was murdered by the society not once,not twice,not thrice, a little in every bite
I just found a way I could free myself
So, I killed the foetus
Now at least the so call society would say a girl choose to die because she was *****
I know this society would not drop a tear on the name of me but the one gave me birth must be searching for me!❤❤
Lemonade Jun 2020
My friend puking out her Christmas dinner like a little girl trying to scrub off that uncle’s touch who tells her she is his favorite kid.
For her dad fat shames her every day.

My friend’s parents sending her to therapy because they don’t get how she can like a boy as well as a girl. Or rather don’t try to, because calling it phase is so much easier than explaining to the neighbors how that is who their daughter is. They are oblivious to what it is like to live in a home where you are treated like a victim of your existence.

My friend needs help, a little attention and someone to talk to.
His family is ashamed, how they could have done better for him, how they’re responsible for the things inside his head and I still don’t know what depression does to him, his family doesn’t like to talk about it.
They’d rather consider him possessed because anything is better than people knowing that he needs therapy and love and care. “Their son can’t be suffering from mental illness, they’re a happy family.”

My friend tells me she’s turning into her mother, and her mother let me tell you, she’s fabulous and fierce for she has been through things harsher than a lover who never says,'I love you’ but wants you to be their ***** little secret and you love them a little too much to deny. My friend, she had an anxiety attack last night for she can’t go out with her guy friends, neither talk to a classmate for too long because her boyfriend might start ****-shaming her. I disapprove and tell her she is not turning into her mother but when I sit in their living room, and aunty brings me snacks while talking to me about life within these faint green walls of the house and what did I eat for breakfast. I ask her to go out sometimes because there are so many things out there that she’d be experiencing and creating, friendship, weather, languages, people, art, emotions. And smell some sunlight in the lush greens fields. She says she’s not allowed to, like a kid calling its mother, "Ma". Her husband loves his ***. And her helplessly hazardous heart, too drained to take ‘harlot’ for a word from an alcohol-soaked throat.
The same walls that once adored their wedding photographs now question their love.

My friend’s girlfriend telling him she loves him but they can’t be together because she’s doesn’t want to be seen with him in the streets. But she seeks his warmth in the winter and leaves right before spring. He loses a little bit of himself every time she does that. He blames himself for what love does to him.

The woman who wears a heavy heart to the bed, finds it difficult to put herself to sleep, holds her dog for a little too long. Whose husband refuses to try therapy.
For I can't margin in metaphors, the agony within the wives who haven't been touched for years.
And the woman who feels a little less human after every night her husband forces himself on her. Because she's, his wife. His. Possession not prized but objectified.
The wife whose husband refuses to wear a ******, she gulps down pain every morning with the pills.
Families of these women, who were taught to think that is how the society functions and who are unwilling to unlearn.      

My friend’s brother asking her to stop wearing that short skirt around guests. There's a hole in her heart every time she remembers the traces his hands left on that infertile body of the kid that looked just like her. He pretends like it never happened.
Tell me the things I can change to make this piece of writing better.
Ritika Dutta Apr 2020
Overlook the fragile hourglass figure

Beyond corsets and pseudo-beauty rules,

Endorse thy curves and stretch marks strewn,

The dusky skin and frizzy curls,

Braille like pimples on the face

Discoloration, bumps and pores;

This Body shaming, I shall pass.

Writhing in pain and humiliation,

Drenching in rage and insecurity

While I lie,

Society curses me

Defining and redefining my chastity;

'T was the crop top, the alcohol and the sly behavior.

You set the monster free and blame the ****

This Victim shaming, I shall pass.

Beige and ebony;

They call me names blatantly

Betwixt skin color and bleached smiles.

Laugh and scoff all you want.

Harass the Black, detain them,

Prejudiced minds rule your dystopian world.

This Black shaming, I shall pass.

Without creating a labyrinth of stigma,

And seeking refugee in collective blame,

Let's construct our utopian world

Acknowledging all freaks and flaws

This Shaming, we shall pass.
Anna Jul 2019
When she looked in the mirror all she saw were words like ugly, not good enough, fat.
I silently cursed them for labelling her things like that.
Because of them she didn't think she could be loved.
Because of them she cried for hours until no more tears could come.
She didn't see how beautiful she was.
The most incredible despite the flaws.
She didn't realise she needn't change.
For I had fallen for her anyway.
I knew I loved her more than she ever loved herself.
She despised herself actually, thinking she was worthless.
How would I ever show her I loved her more than this whole world?
They made sure she hated herself so much that she wouldn't even believe my words.
But more than showing her I loved her more than anyone else.
I wish I could show her how to love her own self.
Anna Jun 2019
They say be skinny but not too skinny. They say be girly and lady like, for that is pretty.
They say be curvy but only in the right places.
They say always have a smile on your faces.
Who made such rules?
Who were these people so cruel?
Why can't I just be me?
Slowly in my head the truth starts to creep.
They too were never accepted for who they were.
They too were shamed for every freckle, every curve.
It is not their fault entirely, now I see.
They just don't want us to face the hate they had to feel.
In the process of getting the world to like us though, we started hating our own bodies.
Taught to be somebody's instead of somebodies.
Is it alright that they won't let us be ourselves?
Shouldn't they know better since they've been through it themselves?
The world before them changed them, got into their head.
But we must not give in, or the real us will be dead.
Lemonade Nov 2018
The advertisement remarked, "Fair and lovely skin."
"Why not my colored skin?"
wondered the 7-yr-old oblivious to the misogyny of dark shades in the society.
Lost Soul Oct 2018
sometimes i dont eat
the longest i've gone
is three weeks
i lay in bed ,my stomach in knots
cant stand up too quickly
dont wanna see spots
my body failed me again
bile came, hunger left
i cant quite remember when
water is my only friend
it soothes the hurt
acid reflux temporarily ends
water runs down my throat
when i move, it sloshes in my belly
sound like waves against a boat  
heartburn comes at night
my body and brain are at war
im kept awake while they fight
headaches come back
it hurts to open my eyes
i know its from the calories i lack
when i can handle a taste other then bile
i eat and eat , i'm called a pork chop
i know its a joke so i hide the pain with a smile
if only they knew
how i hate my body
and the pants sizes i blew
but its something i keep to myself
no need to bother someone else
its not like am a fragile doll on a shelf
....or am I ?
Next page