There's This Thing Called Beauty Part 2

There's this thing called beauty. 
It's something you were taught when you were younger
and your mother, or your father, or your grandmother would say
"you're beautiful."
And you believed them.

There's this thing called beauty,
that is held inside the hands of a child.
Innocently grabbed and held tight to her heart.

There is this thing called beauty,
something that some boys will never hear in their lives.
Is it wrong to yearn for that?

There is this thing called beauty,
it's something that brews in your stomach,
a want to be deemed as beautiful in this tragic society.
They say that this society is tragicly beautiful,
but does that fit the the word beautiful
or are you just trying to say that life is something worth living for.

There's this thing called beauty,
that is stripped from the hands of the same child
who held it close to her heart
and is now replaced by words of anger and hatred and spite.

There's this thing called beauty
where the skinniest girl is deemed it
but on the inside she hates her body.
She hates the gap between her thighs,
the fact that you can see her bones,
the fact that her chest is so small.

There is this thing called beauty.
when people say "real men love curves"
and yet the curivest woman is sitting there,
thinking to herself she will never be loved
because this society is tragically beautiful.
Tragically beautiful, is she beautiful?
Does she call herself beautiful?
Would this society call her beautiful, or ugly and fat?

There is this thing called beauty,
that was taken at an early age from a boy,
who's parents told him this was for girls
who's friends called him gay for indulging in different things.
Since when does your sexuality and gender decided what it is that you like?
He never hears that word,
he thinks to himself.
He is not beautiful,
with the scars down his arms.
skipping almost every meal to "eat" by himself in the bathroom.

This is not beauty.

There's this thing called beauty,
where a girl is cryiing in her room,
due to a boy who touched her at a party
and never got held accountable for those pictures.

This is not beauty.

There's this thing called beauty,
where a child is crying by their self 
because the kids in that classroom,
has called them names since the beginning of time.

This is not beauty.

There's this thing called beauty,
where a girl invisions herself as broken and deranged
and not able to be repaired,
why should she be repaired?

This is not beauty.

There is this thing called beauty,
it's somethign that has changed over time again and again
and yet every day and hour
you can never seem to want anything else
but to be called beautiful. 

This poem is about: 
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741