Mahogany
As I stood
Crying into my mahogany lined mirror
Tracing the curves that curse me
The wood reminds me of soft spots where it is solid
The wood dark and musky, masculine in nature mocks my feminine body
My body’s looking wrong
The mirror distorts and pounces on my curvy frame
I will never be enough for myself
So therefore how may I be enough for another
I stack these expectations and biases like a Jenga tower
Close together, and tight-nit
Yet one gust of wind shall send the tower careening down
Each Jenga block is smooth mahogany
Just like my mirror
Just like everything I want and strive to be
So cut me down like a Swietenia tree
Shape and smooth me
Make me large and boxy
Make me shine and glimmer
And make me
Mahogany.
👁 9💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.