This Is... Me
Flaws and all, here I am.
Distress seeps through my every pore,
plaguing my body through physical and mental scorn.
I appear to get even more gangling
with each new rise,
my mind tells my appetite to wake up
but the beast still lies.
My immune system is shaken
but I have seldom normal days in between,
and I fear that I am starting on the path
my mother traveled after her life got too mean.
The mirror image is tainted though
because at least I have a drug ban,
with each new day I try to be the best me that I can.
When people look at me though
they only see me as an underweight little girl,
not the struggling woman
that would give anything to not have her stomach curl.
This is the image that you see on the covers of magazines,
everyone seems to want that for themselves
but let me tell you it is not at all what it seems.
You shiver in disgust when you think I'm not looking
after you eye my bone thin hands,
the only meat on me is my assets
which the male eye lands.
I cringe in disgust at how stereotypical that statement really is,
yet some seem to fall in line with it.
You really think that when a girl walks down the street
they want you to beep your horn at the rhythm of their walk?
The only women that want that from strangers are the girls
that could care less to talk.
You think that because of my thin frame
I don't know how to wield a bat?
Or is that only wishful thinking on your part,
because you only want that?
Be modest when it comes to a woman
and please try to understand,
that she had to go through hell
to be where she now stands.
She's a survivor; she fought her way through,
please treat her as more
because for her it has been long overdue.
If you lift up my shirt
you will undoubtedly see ribs,
but you will never understand how much
that I never wanted this.
You will never know how long I stood in the mirror and cried,
disgusted with myself but also thanking God that I am alive!
I never wanted to have such low self-esteem,
once upon a time the broken girl had a magnificent dream.
My face is full but someday that too will wither away,
for the day will come when not but ash is what shall stay.
A family member called me a liar today when I got sick,
thinking that I didn't want to do something important to me
today... and not realizing that when confronted, I tend to kick.
Even when I tell the truth people tend to call it a lie;
it always ends the same, with tears cascading down my face
and upon my lips there is a sigh.
When you are underweight and your immune system is down,
viruses seem to infiltrate your body all year round.
There really is no peace for the restless mind,
tangled in a past that coils and binds.
I am trying to fight my way through all this
but it doesn't help that when
people look they don't seem to see...
the heart that is cradled within the shell
that is me.
About the Creator
Stephanie Lifton
Hi! You will soon find different varieties here. I am a writer and a poet, though I am still passing some stepping stones with this. I get wrapped up in the poem sometimes and it may turn out long in the end, so I apologize in advance. :3
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