Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
lavinia will walk through the dizzling rain,
to the artists colony this morning,
instinctively in and out of clothes
a bug in the bold long grass.

Upon leaving without her raincoat
she'll make a perfunctory impression,
nonchalant in cherry lipstick
blotted in another's dreams.
Little girls are always happy
They don't think about how they look
They are just genuinely happy
Until they start seeing pictures and ads of models
It is so painful to see these little girls compare themselves to them
They don't understand that those models don't even look like models
Due to photoshop and plastic surgery
Why does women have a physical attraction standard
It makes these little girls grow up and start to abuse their own bodies
Just to look like these models in the media
Peter B Jan 2018
Never seen it before,
smiling models
on billboards in Central London.

New Burberry collection,
like ******* to Victoria Beckham
and Kim K, who never smile.
It was like wow!
Sincerely Nov 2017
I wish I was smaller.
I wish I was petite.
I wish I was weaker.
I wish someone would be here to hold me and keep me warm.
Someone here to prevent the chills from going up my spine.
I wish I was smaller.
I wish I was shorter.
I wish I was skinnier.
I wish my body weren’t so broad.
I wish I had a feminine body.
I’m happy with my body, I swear.
I just wish it wasn’t the way it was.
I wish I was skinnier, that I was not so broad, that I was shorter. That my nose was like the models from the magazines or that my thighs wouldn’t touch. Because I’m envious of my thighs.
I wish I had green eyes. The eyes of the leaves.. Not of the bark, because who finds bark beautiful? No, everyone looks to the leaves. They simply carve their lovers initials into the tree bark, leaving scars on me.
I’m envious of my thighs.
I’m envious of those skinny, pretty girls.
I’m envious of the model's bodies even though I know they go through hell.
I wish I was smaller.
I wish I was petite.
I wish I was weaker.
I wish I was pretty.
I wish I was light.
I wish my voice was soothing when I sing. Instead it’s raspy and grated. I’m quiet when I sing.. I’m quiet when I talk too… If I talk..
I wish I was smaller.
I wish I was petite.
I wish I was skinnier.
I wish I wasn’t so broad.
I wish my voice was smooth.
I wish my arms wouldn’t look the way they do.
Why do I keep getting picked on because of them?
I wish I was pretty.
I wish I could be loved.
I wish these voices would leave me alone.
I wish I could think straight.
I wish I was pretty.
I wish I was skinny.
I wish I looked like the models in the magazines.
I wish my hair didn’t have split ends or had different lengths.
I wish I didn’t have blemishes on my face
I wish I didn’t say the things I do. Because I always regret it in the end.
I wish my voice smooth.
I wish I talked more.
I wish I wouldn’t always feel the need to say sorry after I speak because I’m afraid that my voice isn’t smooth enough.
I wish I walked, talked, and looked the way the models do.
I wish I felt pretty
I wish I was I was skinny
I wish I could feel comfortable in my own skin
But I’m not.
Love is everything a child needs with it they will thrive and flourish
without love they will wither and die.
caitlin Aug 2016
be soft and gentle
keep your arms in and hands folded
sit with your legs crossed
dont speak to loud or eat too fast
smile when you speak and dont touch your hair
and learn to hate your body

look at models that look like angels
grow your own set of wings
walk like you're stuck in pointe ballet shoes
have a posture as good as a puppet's

never eat more than a few spoonfuls
drink green tea with no milk
try eating the ice in your water
swallow very slowly

start to wear baggy clothing
to hide the ribs that are visible everytime you inhale
be paranoid that they can see your spine
try to forget the number of vertebrae that traces from your neck to your tailbone

spend your life in front of a mirror
pull at your stomach and pull at your thighs
pull your cheeks back to your ears
pull your skin from your collarbones

lie on your back after a workout, not enough
**** in your stomach, not enough
push your body down, down, down
until you disappear completely

it'll be worth it when you waltz down the catwalk
with razor-sharp hips and just enough muscle in your arms
to pick up a magazine and flip the page
to a stunning model who someone said you look like

my body has to live with me
even when i treat her like this
pull me out from my body like a body from a car crash
let me out of my skin, let me out of my skin

be loud and proud
keep your head up and eyes forward
stand with your arms by your side
speak clearly and eat healthily
speak your mind and love your hair
and never give advice
i felt like writing a poem about body image, even though its too late at night and early in the day to type quickly
Caroline Lee May 2016
the church pew thrasher
I'm stuck somewhere between what they say and what they do
communion cups and inner church affairs
painted faces and sanctified stairs
and though I once was blind I now can never unsee
this place has been a heaven for the rivers of hell that abides in in me
and I crossed all of my fingers
knocked my white knuckles on those pews of holy wood
but I found all was lost that kept me young, kind, and good
I learned quick that things never turn out just like they should
and still I cling to hands raised and a few honest bars
the musing of the man on the microphone and my quiet life on mars
If there were any walls they met my fists
if there were any rough edges they all met my wrists
drunk on the blood of my saviors fallen from grace
unable to understand but still a need to see the savior's face
there is no other explanation
there is no other reason

and you,
you couldn't practice what you preach
you,
you couldn't seek what you couldn't reach
you told me to wait while you went on a head
you didn't die to yourself because you were already dead
I should have known
I should have known I should have known
but still I press on in spite of the hell I was shown
still I reach out for the hem of the throne
still
still.

and I'll never understand how much death I lived through
in a place that boasted life for the pure, holy and true
milk and honey met blood and abomination
innocent eyes and tiny hands lead to the greatest devastation
the betrayal of trust
the bread and the cup tarnished with rust
I'll never understand
but still I reach for the Hand

If there were any walls they met my fists
if there were any rough edges they all met my wrists
drunk on the blood of my saviors fallen from grace
unable to understand but still a want to see the savior's face
there is no other explanation
there is no other reason

and you,
you couldn't practice what you preach
you,
you couldn't seek what you couldn't reach
you told me to wait while you went on a head
you didn't die to yourself because you were already dead
I should have known
I should have known I should have known
but still I press on in spite of the hell I was shown
still I reach out for the hem of the throne
still
still.

So I sing to the kid in me that never grew up
the once who's still tripping under the weight of that cup
be still
be still
be still
it was never his will
be still
be still
be still
it isn't your fault, it isn't your crime
don't let it consume you
don't let it poison your mind
just
be still

and you,
you couldn't practice what you preach
you,
you couldn't seek what you couldn't reach
you told me to wait while you went on a head
you didn't die to yourself because you were already dead
I should have known
I should have known I should have known
but still I press on in spite of the hell I was shown
still I reach out for the hem of the throne
still
still.
Rough draft of a song I wrote this morning. I feel like it's taken a life time to work up the courage to let myself write about this but I finally am. If you're heart was broken by role models in places that were supposed to be good and true, you are not alone. It isn't your fault for trusting. It isn't your fault for wanting something to be good.
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
Perfect body proportions
Totally magazine hot.
Two percent body fat.
Bone structure of a god.
An hour workout daily
Jogging or the gym.
Specimen of health
Neither fat nor slim.

A high-dollar hairstyle
Nothing out of place.
The finest of products
Moisturizing the face.
Clothes from the proper
Stores with the right names.
Never take a chance on
Discount shopping games.

And, don’t forget the shoes
They have to be just right.
One set of shoes for daytime
And another for the night.
Not just any socks, either.
They must be picked with care.
You can’t be caught with
The wrong socks out somewhere.

Once the apparel is suitable
The grooming done just right
It’s quite all right to be seen
In public, day and night.
Otherwise the right people
Might trigger your worst fears
By thinking you were shopping
At Walmart, Kmart and Sears.
Who cares anyway Feb 2015
5'9
115 pounds
runway, of course
the face of an alien
but a seven digit paycheck

isn't it strange?
how media can obsess over someone
who looks like they're from outer space
we see them as an object

they are supposed to walk and look pretty
nothing more, nothing less
we never wonder how many hours they had to workout
in order to get that thin and still remain healthy

how many rejections they got
"face is too round"
"drop 10 pounds then we'll talk"
"learn how to walk first"

they are pushed to their limits
so let's treat them as more than just an object
because they're real people too
please realize that
Models are people too.
Next page