Fist Fighting


From day one I have had society's fist pound into my gut like a hammer.

     At an elementary age I am told to wear dresses, play with dolls, and act like the little princess I am. 

As time goes on I am told to have the curves of a pin-up model

      Facial structures so sharp that they could cut glass

A face caked in makeup to the point I don't even know what my real beauty is anymore

     Long, flowing hair

And a waist so small that I could crack in two if I bent the wrong way. 

     And for what?

To please you?

     To entertain men who find delight and bliss from a woman's body? 

To constantly starve myself and work till I pass out at the gym from exhaustion?

     To loathe myself for days because I indugled on something as unimportant as a carb?

Now I'm supposed to get a job, get married, and have kids, right? 

     But wait. 

I can't. I can't take on two tasks at once. That makes my family the victim. 

     Today is the day I punch society in its gut. 

I will be comfortable in my own skin.

     I will enjoy my burge and fries.

I will have a successful job and take on any challenge that is thrown my way. 

     All because I am sick of this. 

I am sick of society telling me what to do

     How to look

How to behave. 

     Society will critize you and abuse you until you are your own worst enemy.

And what happens when you break? 

      What happens when you feel your soul being crushed by the pressure that has been put upon  from the voice of the world? 

What happens when you dry heave your tears away at night? 

     Who will pick up the pieces? 

Certainly not society.

     That's for sure.

Because remember, you are only valuable when you are perfect in society's eyes.

     At the end of the day all I have is myself and my own dignity.

I am not a victim.

     I am not broken.

I am not conformed.

     I am woman. 





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