Oh femininity why must you flee from me? My body is curvy, and breast are larger than the average yet I feel as if I am somehow out of balance. Torn between the reality of myself and who I wish that I could be. I want a prettier face, a kinder soul, and nurturing warmth that flows from me and onto others. Just I feel as if I am harded. My body is scared, purple lines on my upper thighs, scars on my wrist from times I was plotting on my suicide. I guess what I am trying to say is that my body was never mine. I never felt comfortable in it. I also felt as if my body was a tool for others and not for myself. Because how can it be mine if it has been shared by seven? Men who promises me love while lust was on lips, men who broke me, bruised me, stole away my confidence and now I am left with the reminds. And society reinforces me that I should know my place. This socialization in a patriarchal society that I am forced to live in prevents me from blaming anyone else except for myself. And if that’s true how can I look at God and tell him I just did what I told them too? He built my body and model into a version of perfection, and I say perfection because it was God that made me. Yet I see myself in such a disgusting matter and allow the thoughts of others to guide me along my way. Stuck in between the fragments of the truths and the anxiety of trying to find love for my body once again. I find myself at a wall. Dying for reassurances that I am beautiful, that I am kind, and I can be loved. Yet I am given all of that from God. But I hold onto this emotions because a part of me finds it comforting because hating my body is all that I ever really known. I guess in a way my body is a metaphor for me. It’s fragile yet strong, it inflicts harms but it also bruises. Like that of my soul it is wounded. But still intact despite the self inflicted destruction. Because the only thing that I truly have in this world are my soul and my body. Without those, I am nothing but oxygen and wasted space.
And back to the particahy society that draws the lines that surround me. How I wish it fall down like of ancient empires. But I feel as if it gains its heights from people like me who are too scared to fight. I am shackled to this female body but one without femininity. I think this is the part where I explain what femininity means to me because it’s a style or wearing a dress. It’s kindness and selfless. It having love for humanity and having respect for yourself. Yet if you look at my body you were see memories of regrets and misplaced aggravation.If you tore open my body and laid me on a table, you would see black tar from the American Spirits that I put to my lips. You would see liquor filled kidneys from nights that I wanted to forget. If you looked into my brain you would see such low level of dopamines that you would question my sanity. Oh the terrors you would see if you could peek inside of me. But you can’t and you won’t because I clocked myself in false sense of stability scared of others realizing the monster that I lock up inside of me. For this I am grateful for my body, because it shields others from what I hide inside of me. Now let me ask you this, am I to blame or is it this society. Because I was created with a purpose and body that can sever it. Yet society was created by men who touches are haunting and turn others heartless. And who can I really blame for my body distortion if it is me who perceives it as something that should have been aborted. Who is there to blame when I am staring in the mirror and crying and pleading oh femininity please don’t flee me.