In-Between the Filters


United States
32° 35' 46.8492" N, 81° 7' 50.3004" W

I’ve shoved myself relentlessly in to the Valencia, Ludwig, Sierra, and Hefe.

I’ve broken my body to fit the mold.

I’ve sucked in my stomach and arched my back until everything looked the way that I was told.


I needed a blanket to sleep!

A blanket of Mayfair to cover my skin.

Perfect skin, 100 Likes, cropped out flaws, only the highlights.


That’s what you get with a filter and I can’t do that anymore. I won’t- will not.

I will not filter my body, my mouth, my heart, and my edges just to make those around me more comfortable while a layer of Inkwell itches at my skin leaving marks- stretch marks.

Stare at them and tell me I’m thin!


But you can’t see them because Earlybird caresses them softly, quieting their screams and halting their lust.

Stare at them and tell them their honest words are wrong and do it without a tone of disgust.

“You are wrong and disgusting,” says the filter. Every. Single. Time.


But I am not!


I have big fucking hips, a stomach, and breast.

I am a woman who doesn’t need to be blurred or cropped, tilted or shadowed.

I won’t- will not- filter my body, my mouth, my heart and my edges just to make you more comfortable.


I’m perfect in-between the filters.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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