In the beginning I walk, head held high.
A
b
O
uN
c
E
in my step. A s w a y in my hips. A pleasant jiGGle in my breasts, a wild curl to my frothy locks. “This is beautiful,” you say. Suddenly, it’s no longer good enough. It turns into, “Your belly looks a little soft...you should work out more.” That s w a y of my hips is gone. That jiggle of my breasts is hidden by the hunched curvature of my shoulders. Someone else too says I’m beautiful. Abruptly, it turns into, “I think you would look better with straight hair.” That wild curl of my frothy locks is gone. That bounce in my step is gone. Again and again, it happens so many times that I lose track. I am no longer me. Every time I fail to please them, I lose a piece of myself. Even when there’s nothing left I struggle to make myself into what they want.
Will they accept me? No.
“You should let your hair down!” I wish people would make up their
Minds
Damned
God
I let my hair down. Just like they’ve asked. But. Here it comes. The dreaded attention. The eyes that follow me. The eyes that slide over my figure, like cold hands. The eyes that undress me and tell me, “I like what I see.”
no. nO. NO.
The way men have looked at me should be considered harassment. All I want is to avoid them and their lingering eyes. When I do: Tease. Whore. Skank. Because I won’t give you what you want – what so many have wanted – you stick your filthy words onto me. Like neon strobe lights they flash. Inviting everyone else to think the same as you. I run. I seek camaraderie with women. They’re better, right? They’re more trustworthy, right?
Wrong.
They’re just as bad. I cannot say enough how bone-tired I am of emphasizing and proving that, no. I neither want nor would I steal your boyfriend. Now, I resent women too. Do you think I enjoy having your boyfriend’s eyes on me while he kisses you? As slides his hands down your hips with his eyes devouring mine? I don’t. I didn’t ask for his attention and I most certainly didn’t ask for your distrust of my character. We’re done here.
Sadly, there’s no one left now. Are my only choices slimy bastards or petty bitches? I choose neither. Instead, in my solitude I shall rediscover myself and embrace my newfound beauty. Because of this, their slime and their pettiness are stronger than ever before. Both sides are firing their utmost worst onto me. Trying to ruin me so that they can feel better about themselves and be empowered at the idea of destroying someone to do it. But guess what? I will no longer be your sacrifice. Your punching bag. Your contempt. Your fantasy. Your lust. Your baggage is smothering me. I just barely manage to not lose myself to you. I will shove all of you aside to make room for my beauty. They cannot both be here.
My newfound beauty is pure and untarnished by your vile existence. I don’t hate you. For, you made me who I am. On one hand, I feel compelled to thank you. On the other hand, I feel compelled to flip you the bird. I am done with gestures. So instead I will say the words that have been burning to be said. “Fuck you.”
Pre
pare yourself. I’m grateful to be who I am. But, I’ll never forgive the process That you, that they, that I put me through. Pre
pare yourself. The new me is coming. This time I will not let you thwart my attempts at being b-e-a-u-tiful.
Pre
pare yourself. I’m coming. And so, I take a bow. With joy in my heart, we part and words burst from my lips:
Here. I. Am.