Muscles, Mirrors, and Me

Thu, 03/05/2015 - 17:00 -- Louie

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I open my eyes and look towards my feet.

There are weights on a wall seeming to stare at me.

Gripping the steel I stare straight and puff out my chest.

I grunt and tense as I heave the weight from my breast.

“1, 2, 3… 4….. 5” is counted by me

I rerack the weight and rise from my one’s level best.

 

I go to the mirrors just around the turn.

I stand, I flex, I show obvious concern.

Left arm to small, right shoulder to weak

I sigh and try to shove off the feeling of being so meek.

“One day…” I say as I can only yearn.

“The gains will come” and life won’t be so bleak.

 

For life is filled with bullies who yell.

Say hurtful things that make me hide in my shell.

Will tell me I’m small, a baby, a little ant at best.

“You skeleton, you pole, made of air but still less”

They seem to have gotten the physique that seem to excel.

While I am down at the bottom with a body I detest.

 

The mirrors at home and in the gym.

Is the reassurance that I am still thin.

But as time ticks on they also tell

Of progress, hard work, and a body that continues to swell.

 

So here I am in the flesh and open wide

Of  who I really am with nothing to hide.

For I may be small and I may be weak

But as life goes on true self love, is what I seek.

 

 

 

 

 (This is my first crack at a McCarron Couplet, hope you enjoy it!)

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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