I look at myself with such revulsion,
My desire for a perfect body is an on-going compulsion.
Close friends and family think I am fine,
But it’s the constant jibes from society that seem to influence my mind.
The beauty of my curves,
To me are so averse.
The voluptuousness of my body is unpalatable to me,
What will it take for me to see?
That the splendour of my figure is greatly enhanced,
Just by my own alluring presence.
That to be a size zero,
Won’t make me a hero.
That, who I am,
Is just as enthralling.
The mirror seems to twist and taunt,
I cry often in turbulent thought.
That maybe I should be thinner,
Then maybe I would be more of a winner.
There will always be something to fix, change or tweak,
The Medias fixate on you being at your peak.
We lose all sight of the attractiveness we already possess,
Whether it is on the outside or beneath our natural breast.
Maybe it’s simpler than that,
Maybe I can capture beauty in other acts.
Such as a sumptuous smile,
Fluttering of flirtatious eyes.
It’s the way we carry ourselves,
Oppose to how we really look,
That truly changes how we feel.
The way we embrace our bodies,
And the picture we eventually reveal.
© 2012 Alana Bembridge