Uncensored

This poem, called "Uncensored", carries a message about the stigma of body image in society. Body image is an issue I feel very strongly about and affects many men and women across the United States. People have unrealistic expectations of body image because what we see as idealistic turns out to be the magic of Photoshop, airbrushing and extensive editing. Skewed perceptions of self body image can lead to eating disorders and unhealthy methods of controlling body type. I have personally once had a problem with body image and as a result had an eating and exercise disorder. I would not let myself eat if I had not worked out for at least an hour that day. I was miserable, unhappy and unsatisfied with myself. I have bettered myself now, but I know there are still many people out there with this problem.
Please enjoy this poem and if you know anyone with this problem, let them know this: "It's true, the scale can only give you a numerical reflection of your relationship with gravity. It cannot measure beauty, talent, purpose, life force, possibility, strength, or love." ~ Steve Maraboli

Uncensored

She looks in the mirror and hates what she sees

Her name is The Girl but there are those like her

Everywhere.

The Girl looks at the buffet line, and helps herself to a small apple.

She eats no more.

Her boyfriend tells her that she’s too fat

Tells her that she doesn’t look like the girls

That grace the covers of magazines.

She laughs off the comments, but tears well deep inside

He will never know how much he hurt her.

The tag on her comfortable shirt says medium

Society says large

Dark washed jeans say size 5

Society says 13

Her little black dress says size 6

Society says 10

She’s so hungry but won’t eat more

It’s time to go to the gym.

The molded iron grips of the twenty pound dumbbells

Raise calluses and blisters on her delicate hands

Sets, reps, repeat

The blisters rip open on her palms

Streaking the silver surface of the dumbbells

With blood like crimson tears.

Sets, reps, repeat

Hours of lifting still isn’t enough.

She’s still too fat.

She laces up her Mizunos and goes for a long run.

Her shoes hit the pavement, sending jarring impacts up her legs

She’s so exhausted, vision blurring, doubling, shifting.

Her head spins and she starts to see things that aren’t really there

The sidewalk sways beneath her

And the grass is a rippling emerald sea.

Halfway through the run, her legs give out

 And she tumbles to the ground

Limbs shaking, head pulsing.

But she staggers to her feet and begins anew.

The six mile run still isn’t enough.

She’s still too fat.

Walking back up the stairs to her dormitory

It all overwhelms her and she sinks onto the steps,

Sobs racking her frame, slamming her fists ineffectually

Against the cold concrete walls.

WHY can’t she be beautiful? WHY can’t she be skinny?

Tears blur her eyes as she stumbles into the white painted stall

And heaves her stomach contents up

Bile burns her throat, but the tears keep pouring

All her insecurities are branded on her heart, mind and soul.

The attack is over

She grips the edge of the white porcelain sink

And looks into the mirror.

Hollow eyes set deep into papery skin look back.

She will never be beautiful, she will never be thin.

The happy facade she puts on for friends and family

Stripped away at last.

She looks in the mirror and hates what she sees

Her name is The Girl but there are those like her

Everywhere.