The Diet Of Self Doubt - A Poem

The Diet Of Self Doubt - A Poem

For so long,
I failed to recognize my own beauty
Jealousy crowding my being - 
Staring at others, trying to find
Some code
Some secret diet, 
Some mathematical equation
That would solve the illusion
Tangled
Around
My thoughts.

So wrapped around
Every cell
That the only equation I could solve
Was
Self love = confusion.

Confusion
Because 4th grade me,
Innocent and undeserving
Of this delusion -
She thought it was cool
To suck in
Her stomach
Around boys.

Because 7th grade me
Entangled with delusion -
The best compliment she’d
Received was,
“That shirt makes you look skinny.”

Because skinny was in

Perpetuating the idea
Of happiness,
Dieting + doubt = corporations making money

Thick skin?
Who wants to be associated
With anything thick
When we are all classically
Conditioned to believe
Skinny is healthy
Skinny is pretty
Skinny is what you
Need to achieve
We must look good, or face exclusion.

Who needs health
When corporations
Are full of wealth
But all you’re full of is
Diet pills
And self loathing

Decomposing
Rotting hope,
Dripping into our bones
As an IV
Feeding all of us
That are diagnosed with
Just wanting to be good enough.

The sharp scream
Of self-esteem,
Cracking like broken bones
Echoes through my conscience


Systematically instilling
A sense of
Mediocrity, obtrusion.

With every judgement
Flows a mere sense
Of confusion -
Another stab at the
Mangled image you have of
yourself,
Now dripping with crimson red
Emotion. 

Disregarding the
Effervescent cells,
Fighting for that mangled
Contusion.

Disregarding the fact
That no mathematical equation
Will solve this misconception.

Disregarding the fact that
P-r-e-t-t-y
A six letter,
Two syllable word
Has no right to dissemble
Your sovereignty.

You are more than a word,
More than the ephemeral
Judgements
Of yourself,
Worth more than anything
You could imagine

Because corporation’s wealth
Has no match against
Your preeminent health -

Something more than a fad
Something more than
A few calories and
Some fitspiration
Something more than
Just saying

You’re

Tired

When all your eyes are
Shouting
is
Help me,
I’m tired of this
Intrusion.

I never thought I needed
Strength,
Aren’t abs and
A toned body
Enough?
Get me out of this
Illusion.

Because saying you’re
Okay
Is easier than climbing
Piles of broken bones
Soaked in delusion.

But

Okay isn’t enough.

It won’t be enough
Until you’re standing
On that pile of
Broken bones
With the strength
And
Benevolence
Over some sort of dreary
Profusion.

In seclusion,
Will you let this misconstrued
Delusion
Lead you to action of
Admonition or
Degradation?

You are not
Pretty
You’re insightful,
Genuine
An indomitable creation of
Beauty
And passion,
In which comparison of
Oneself to
Another,
Concludes in inept examination.

There is no code,
No mathematical equation.

There is just you,

An undeniable light of beauty,
Tangled in graceful effusion.

Come Broken

Come Broken

INTERVIEW - CAREER COACH - HEATHER MONAHAN

INTERVIEW - CAREER COACH - HEATHER MONAHAN