society has a lot of standards for people to have. big or small details, whether it may be, people will always prefer what looks prettier to them than what actually is pretty. there isn't a real definition to pretty or beautiful or gorgeous. the words just exist, floating within the air as their colourless tears fall down the sky like clouds do when it rains. we always call the clouds pretty and etheral but when it's in the most fragile and saddening state, we suddenly don't like it.
i've never had my own looks or body fit into society. my hourglass body bleeds from cuts i enforce on myself but it doesn't make me any skinnier. i don't know what will.
my hourglass body isn't thin enough. my ribs are too wide for my body and therefore i will never be seen as beautiful according to societies standard.
my hourglass body causes me to have bigger hips. my hips are too big for my body and therefore i will never be able to be held properly because too curvy is not good.
my hourglass body comes with big thighs. soft pillows of skin are suddenly seen as ugly because i have visible curves.
i won't ever be seen as pretty to anyone because i don't align with society. the cuts on my body will only heal and fade but they won't fade to how they should. now they are just white lines.
however, maybe in my dreams i can get a reassuring kiss and know somebody out there appreciates my body and my thighs and my hips.
in an unconscious slumber where my vision is dark and there's nothing colourful or nice to look at, it fades like i'm awaking suddenly. it felt good to finally wake up even though i have never thought this.
there i am in the arms of one, where i can stare into his face with love and the stare back that i get won't ever be any less of how i look at him. his grasp is gentle and not forceful like how i've forced myself to not grow. i never wanted to grow healthily but he's the only one that really understood.
there's no words, but maybe silent communication. his gentle palms and fingers trail around my waist where they hold there, pulling me close and in so i have some place to rest. to feel i don't need to live up to expectations that everyone i don't know sets up for me.
it's almost like he knows that what i am thinking is like being said aloud. sweet liquor of words that end up sounding more sour but tasting normal to the speaking. a trail of sadness that only somebody can speak through poems and stories with the main character not of themselves but of an equivalent.
it's almost like he knew what i was feeling. what was hurting. to say, everything was hurting. my head, my eyes, my lips, my hands, my heart.
my face lifts up again to meet blue eyes staring at me, like i had discovered another ocean. an ocean to relax and feel warmth from.
from mumbles to whispers, i could finally make it out.
"if you don't love yourself and your body. your curves, your chest, your waist, your face," he spoke, still staring at me.
"then i will for you."
i will for you?

© morgan, crafted with love!