Commercial Land

I am encouraged to become the commercial woman,

pale-skin with cherry red lips

a silk dress that tips

the perfected curves.

Indulging her body,

uncoiling and being gaudy itself.

 

My body is a skeleton in a closet

that hides the fat away in all of the guilty pockets.

Withered and dry are my arms that have become

to dangling bones that parades to self-destruction.

Liposuction, is the only way to numb my thoughts.

Yet if I do that I would be a fraud.

 

The commercial land is filled with kings and queens

they blind your eyes and sell your dreams.

Media has shown that I must grow up

in every way except in my body.

It isn’t enough for my body to hold the sizeable soul

that has grown in myself.

I crawl down to the darkness

and never show my face at all.

 

Looking to the ceiling,

back bent and curled.

Arms raised in asking, “Can I? Will I ever be enough?“  

Commercial land grasps me with the society in their backhand

scolding “You shall never be enough!

 
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