Tag: beauty standards

Intrusions

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Mascara running into my dark circles, charcoal.

Under my foggy soul there is an equidistant hole

To a different part of the path I’ve taken in past

Wishing that temporary things were meant to last,

And I was a different person when I promised

To play it safe when times become too honest.

Not a bitter tear of regret running down my cheeks

Because fear is how lion seeks out the hurt and weak.

Who knew I was never broken, it was an illusion –

A million little moments aligned, masked as intrusions.

I’m crying unflattering drops in a loose tank top

Hoping our daughters don’t have to run in a hamster wheel

Of beauty standards that flop

Faster than they can be stopped.

-JW

Picture Perfect

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Shattering circus mirrors on grey streets, my boots punching straight through them.

Setting fire to another pastel advert asking “us ladies to starve and lose ‘em”.

You cannot blow up the crooked system telling you how to be happy dying

But you can bite its head off trying to hear how the filtered buzz is lying.

The feathers of poorly made starlet costumes flying off as I tear them open –

If we’re exploring what beauty means, let’s also show the parts that are broken.

There are no friends in ecosystems built out of denying every human emotion,

Made out of caricatures of people who only stay young by staying in motion.

“Another pound gained means another rumour that her husband doesn’t love her –

We didn’t write the rules, it’s her fault she kept thriving when others ran for cover.”

What is this obsession of being camera ready and acting the part as well?

Your life is not up for an Oscar so stop reaching for the poisoned wishing well,

And your lungs are designed to scream not to swallow every shallow remark –

Lovely, please, dig a hole in the dust to bury the voice that haunts you

And leave the grave unmarked.

-JW

Tinseltown

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A-listers with bleached morals and dead eyes –

They munch on diamonds while I’m forced to eat led pies.

Lies. Sabotage. Saying I’m a carbon copy.

The next I know – he wants to make me into a trophy.

Is this the place losers are produced and turned into stars?

The slower they age, the faster they drive their cars.

Fake condolences mixed with beauty tips from the rotten.

Everyone without a dollar to their name trying to get their shot in.

“Hollywood infected your brain,” Marina sang in the rain.

It also spread through the bodies of many, even the sane.

But tinsels don’t cast a reflection in the darkest place.

Fabricated ideals remain untrue, even if manufactured in lace.

–JW

A Screw to Tighten

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Photo by Anna Shvets from Pexels

The pressure to dislike yourself is the next great invention.

It’s not a wheel, you can reinvent it.

So go ahead, we’ll buy more extensions even when we get our pensions.

The riots on the streets are only static playing in the radio.

Why accept if you can always improve with pills and some cardio?

If it fails, at least you’ll die trying or even die pretty –

That’s a bargain, take it! Maybe they’ll invite you to the big city.

Don’t focus on nutrients, they don’t make you skinny, silly!

Suck in your cheeks while smiling, dear,

Keep your head semi-high and attitude – chilly.

Never let them know you’re difficult. Or your cons.

You’re mostly cons so, please, keep quiet for once!

I hate that dress on you. Aren’t these pants too tight for a stranger in the street?

With that attitude… No wonder no one wants you in their sheets!

How come you’re not married? Such a waste of symmetrical face.

The ass could use some work but no one is only straight A’s.

That would be boring – not having a screw to tighten here and there.

And you can’t have special treatment for ravishing eyes, it’s not fair!

The pressure to dislike yourself is the next great invention.

Yet you only invest in getting it patented if you pay it

attention,

your tension,

pretention.

-JW