Exposed.
Naked, exposed.
I watch from my display.
A single couch for me to lie.
My naked body, shy.
People watch with their eyes.
Some grimace,
Others hide their child's eyes.
I'm the work of art.
Everyone can comment on.
Picked apart by their minds.
A group stares,
Clipboards in hand.
They study me carefully,
I watch in shock.
I feel sick from their watchful observations.
"She weighs too much," One mutters.
"Her breasts are too small," Another says.
I walked forward in my glass case.
"She's too short," A third pipes in.
"Where is the beauty?"
Pulled from my case moments later,
Strapped down to a table,
Again they watch me.
Jabbed with needles,
Touched with cold hands.
One grabs my stomach,
Another fondles my breasts,
Another jab in my arm makes me wince.
Where is the beauty?
Where does she hide it.
Naked, exposed.
I don't know where to go.
Trapped under their prying eyes,
I feel as if I shall turn green.
I cry for escape.
My body twitches as they touch me again,
"Everything will be fine."
Leave me alone, I want to say.
Trapped under their eyes.
I was the hated piece of art.
I sat up panting.
Ran a hand across my skin.
Then glanced up at the night sky.
Naked, exposed.
It was only a dream.
I watch from my display.
A single couch for me to lie.
My naked body, shy.
People watch with their eyes.
Some grimace,
Others hide their child's eyes.
I'm the work of art.
Everyone can comment on.
Picked apart by their minds.
A group stares,
Clipboards in hand.
They study me carefully,
I watch in shock.
I feel sick from their watchful observations.
"She weighs too much," One mutters.
"Her breasts are too small," Another says.
I walked forward in my glass case.
"She's too short," A third pipes in.
"Where is the beauty?"
Pulled from my case moments later,
Strapped down to a table,
Again they watch me.
Jabbed with needles,
Touched with cold hands.
One grabs my stomach,
Another fondles my breasts,
Another jab in my arm makes me wince.
Where is the beauty?
Where does she hide it.
Naked, exposed.
I don't know where to go.
Trapped under their prying eyes,
I feel as if I shall turn green.
I cry for escape.
My body twitches as they touch me again,
"Everything will be fine."
Leave me alone, I want to say.
Trapped under their eyes.
I was the hated piece of art.
I sat up panting.
Ran a hand across my skin.
Then glanced up at the night sky.
Naked, exposed.
It was only a dream.
♠ ♠ ♠
I wrote this inspired by a dream I had. I'm one of the many girls who don't feel beautiful enough because of today's beauty standards for women. I'm turning sixteen next week, I'm 5'2, size 32 B in a bra, and weigh around 130 pounds. Most women are seen as blond, skinny, beautiful, but not a lot of girls fit that standard. The line "Where is the beauty?" when talking about the girl on display is the reality of most girls. They're pointed out by some people and called ugly. The people try to find her beauty, but they can't find it because they don't see it. She's beautiful the way she is, but she can't see it anymore because of the fact that she's been ridiculed by so many people.
Sorry. I wrote a deep poem.