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!”