#soceity

I fear we have so many things wrong my friends.

If you don't conform to what society expects of you, you'll be pushed aside, boxed up like an old teddy a child no longer has love for. I can only describe this as a tragedy. If you're not clever, they wont think you're good enough. If you're not pretty, they'll call you ugly. If you're not happy, they'll see you as miserable. Society leaves no room for the in-betweens. But the in-betweens are where you'll find acceptance, understanding and a whole lot of love but most importantly, you'll find thats where you belong, where all of us belong.

What is the girls in my 2nd grade class comparing their weight and laughing at the fattest one then?

What is a girl going into hysterics and having to be sent home in 5th grade after the school nurse told her she was overweight then?

What is the fact that there are almost no photos of me from age 12 to age 15, because i thought i could never look good then?

What is my mom yelling at me taking a second serving of pasta at age 14 because she thought i was getting chubby then?

What is me crying for 20 minutes at age 16 in a dressing room after my mom told me my knees looked fat in a dress then?

What is the doctor assuming that my lung pain were because of my weight, when really it was condensation then?

What is my best friend telling me that she’d rather loose an arm than become fat then?

What is the fact that “fat” is still the worst insult my classmate can think of even at age 18 then?

Don't claim that it’s health concerns because it’s not. Don't write it of as isolated incidents because it’s not. Every girl I know has stories like these. Fat is the worst thing you can be as a girl, it’s ingrained into us. So don’t turn around and claim it “isn’t really a thing” because it is so real and so harrowing. Don't think it isn’t harmful. Don’t think things like “skinny queen” aren’t hurtful necause it is. It really is.

when we dream, are we truly ourselves?

our mind tweaks the flawed perfections to fit a construct that pinches our skin till it leaves scars on both our body, and our heart;

the same construct we riot with fire, strings us along for, are we not too a part of society;

before we know it everything beautiful inside of is dying;

the psyche opens its mouth to speak, just for us to write its speech into the silence of femme fatale, the length of the silence of entirety of living;

the vile thing known as your soul decays into nonexistence;

and you become a body, where the soul is just a mere appendix;