Posted in Poetry

On why men should know the price of my beauty

I have been thinking about my body,
how it looks beside someone else’s skin
I think about people telling me                                                                                                                                 how smooth my skin is as I rub my breasts                                                                                                                                                                                                                             in circles with lotion for the second time of the day
I have been wanting to turn my skin into milk                                                                                                                                                                   fresh and white and sweet that men would                                                                                                                                                                                                                         want to drink the very last ounce of me
the same skin I wanted to shed off for years
my soul wanting to crawl out of this shell                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   and possess the next most beautiful thing I see

I have been thinking about my body                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        and how it would look like without the grasses                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  of hair that continues to grow unwanted
I can feel them rough and just newly born                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         and I condemn each one of them                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    along with all their mothers                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         who lived and grew before them
I let the light burn them                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   and curse each tingling sensation                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    as I pray to the gods of fire that                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            they may never see the light of day again

I have been thinking about my body                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           and wonder what the mirrors whisper to each other                                                                                                                                           when they see me and I am curious to know                                                                                                                                                                             do they hear the growls my stomach makes                                                                                                                                                                when I refuse to hear its yearning as my spirit                                                                                                                                                                                               demands for a smaller space to live in
I feel the temple that I have built becoming hefty                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 but saggy and I have been looking at
the sacs of fat that cling to my every inch                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            and I think of the men who told me                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        I should lose weight as their cracked lips                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             sucked my pumped and brown nipples                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           like an infant holding on for its dear life

I have been thinking about my body                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             and the face that it carries everyday                                                                                                                                                           fair and soft in calloused hands                                                                                                                                                            that have tried to hold it                                                                                                                                                                      and I think of all the tongues                                                                                                                                                                 that have forced themselves down my mouth                                                                                                                                                                                  hungry and angry and always asking for more then                                                                                                                                              

I pick up the razor                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       and I allow my pale face be damned with blood                                                                                                                                                                                     and I laugh
and I put on my red lipstick                                                                                    and I wait for men to worship me.

Author:

Lynde Grande is a curriculum writer by day and an armchair media critic by night. She is fuelled by junk food and frozen yoghurt. Lynde is currently enjoying life with her lovely partner and two cats in the heart of Sydney. The previous statement is a lie. She is actually an angry and sad potato.

One thought on “On why men should know the price of my beauty

  1. Nice dae.. (wrong grammar ang usa, haha)
    “I used to think about my body too,
    And how its essence
    Often seem to rely
    On how men
    Can’t keep their desire
    In seeing me naked
    Without their balls turning blue.”
    Lels. 🤣🤣🤣

    Liked by 1 person

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