Commercial Land

I am encouraged to become the commercial woman,

pale-skin with cherry red lips

a silk dress that tips

the perfected curves.

Indulging her body,

uncoiling and being gaudy itself.


My body is a skeleton in a closet

that hides the fat away in all of the guilty pockets.

Withered and dry are my arms that have become

to dangling bones that parades to self-destruction.

Liposuction, is the only way to numb my thoughts.

Yet if I do that I would be a fraud.


The commercial land is filled with kings and queens

they blind your eyes and sell your dreams.

Media has shown that I must grow up

in every way except in my body.

It isn’t enough for my body to hold the sizeable soul

that has grown in myself.

I crawl down to the darkness

and never show my face at all.


Looking to the ceiling,

back bent and curled.

Arms raised in asking, “Can I? Will I ever be enough?“  

Commercial land grasps me with the society in their backhand

scolding “You shall never be enough!

Guide that inspired this poem: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741