Women hiding behind a camera with meticulously plastered makeup and overly-teased hair,
their smiles luminescent and bright, they are masking their insecurities in front of the editors and fashion designers that yell out while inspecting their bodies like a piece of thinly sliced meat,
their slender bodies are lined up in rows, they don't believe there is anything left for them, they disappear.
their only hope is to be on a magazine cover for the world to savor, the women with ordinary jobs, hairy legs, and not-so-perfect skin wonder how it must be like to be them,
the models all pale, withering away from days of not eating, running, and applying think coats of mascara, wonder if they could ever have a lower standard of being pretty,
they want a world were a pretty face is only worth so much, they want intellect, and beauty from within,
the world has only shown the hungry wolves prowling for their prey, looking for the next glimmering model to take the stage and for us to know how they did it,
one day I hope that we will be able to see what women are regardless if they are fit to be a model,
we don't need to hide under the covers of insecurities, we should release those butterflies of hatefulness and understand that wrinkles, fat, and things that are deemed as imperfections can sometimes be the best form of beauty.
About the Creator
Kendall Warnkin
hello! I’m Kendall and I love to write poetry. I hope you enjoy reading my poems which come from my heart and my mind.
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Kawanas Park
We walked and walked tranquilly until the moon kissed the sky. My father and I were dancing on his fond memories of his youth. Those were the days he spent building towers out of sturdy oak and tangy sap, playing as G.I. Joe, and creating bonfires that roasted the pale marshmallows to a golden brown. These were the memories that transformed my father from a child into a man. With a walk over the gasoline-stained railroad track he was on his way. The place was called Kawanas park, with the golden, fiery, and pumpkin leaves made it seem as if they were in a dream. My father exclaimed about how a young bad boy set fire up into a big oak tree that you could make a house out of, the picnics with his friends, and the nights ere he looked into the starry blue sky. He thought about how this forest was a part of his identity, so the park became mine as well. He went on saying, “The crunch of the fall leaves brought me my independence, this piece of heaven made me who I am today.” We were in awe when we looked up into the lattice work of leaves that made the air seem light. We spotted speckled deer, rabbits, and many ruby cardinal. We knew that we were never alone, and felt at ease knowing that this was ours. The silent deer watched closely while my father was at play in his childhood cub scouts meet, his miraculous adventures he led made him seem that he was like an old, wise Indian leading the way to the face of danger. He would never have imagined, that when he was all grown up. In his body and his mind, that he’d remember what it was like to be a kid again. He arrived with me on a fall day and to my surprise Kawana’s was all that my dad made it out to be. His eyes widened with excitement as if he was opening presents on Christmas day. This placed was all he ever wanted. The moon seemed to grin, the world slowed down. He said, “I couldn’t have imagined being with my daughter on this starry Van Gogh night.” His soul was freed from his adult life, and he never felt as happy in his entire life. The wind sighed as if everything was going to be okay. When I looked upon the midnight sky I wondered why this place was as magical as it is, and how grateful I am of sharing this piece of heaven with my father.
By Kendall Warnkin6 years ago in Poets
How the Harvest Mouse Came to Suisun Bay
A long, long time ago there was a family of harvest mice. Mice are common, but these were unique – born to those who had lived in the salty, marshy bay for many generations, these mice ate and drank from the sea as well as the land and rivers. For generations, there were only the southern families, scattered along the marshes of Corte Madera and in the San Francisco Bay (U.S. Fish & Wildlife, 2013). One family, however, would undergo strife and conflict before reaching a whole new world. What became of them after is another tale entirely – but this is how their story begins.
By Taylor Inman6 days ago in Fiction
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