
UH OH
An add on to a self-conscious younger poem
I have always lived repeating the motto in my head, “prove them wrong”
I think without that phrase I would be dead at this point
Nothing to motivate me
Unfortunately something genuinely helpful manifested itself into a poisonous body image I had hoped for myself
Truly believing the only way to make all those who didn’t believe in me feel wrong and ask for my forgiveness was to fit society’s perfect body image
It did not matter what I created
It did not matter what I said
It did not matter what I felt
If I did not have the body as something like the cover to my memoir, the stories would be meaningless
There would be no pull to attract the general audience
I would be another freak who found art as an outlet
But if I was hot
Maybe then I could act human and silly
People would think I was such an extraordinary human being
A goal that they themselves could strive for
A goal that I could tell everyone is accomplishable
A goal that I have yet to accomplish
A goal that I will always feel worthless unless accomplishing
A goal that will always knock on my door when I have created beauty
When I have placed my thumbprint on a piece of art, this self-consciousness revives itself from the grave I tried to bury it in middle school and spreads through my entire body
Placing all artistic priorities on hold while I sweat off the calories and try to look like how I’m supposed to
Put the pen down so I can carve out my muscles
Sacrifice a moment of truth and therapy for self-hatred disguised as happiness as I am improving
Maybe one day I will learn the way for these two activities to exist in harmony; God knows others have
But until then I will keep this fear and sickness under wraps
Placed in the graveyard that is inhabited by zombies rather than dead memories
Hoping that no one sees this
For my biggest fear is someone who looks up to me sees this fear as well and begins to carry it as well
Thus I am only helping in spreading this sickness generation to generation
Poisoning the confidence of those younger than me
Just so I can feel a little less isolated and alone
But what sort of community is that?
A village of scared and self-hating individuals
Mirrors have the highest murder rate of anyone in the village
And I, the mayor, still have my palace plastered with mirrors
In hopes that one day I will wake up and achieve the unreachable standards
That I will look like him or her or them
And can finally
Live
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But.
Maybe in saying all this
Maybe in putting this somewhere
Someone will see it and think of me as more human
Maybe make them understand what they’re feeling is human
That we’re all little gray blobs freaking out because we haven’t figured it out
But no one has it figured out
And so there may not be a grand takeaway, just that
Your blob is just as blobby as mine, as theirs
And it will change, always
So for right now let yourself blob
You deserve it