Open mic
I've always been very confused about myself and my body. Over the years, I've tried to accept it all but I still struggle a lot with accepting my body. I don't really like anything about it and sometimes don't even feel like myself in it. Sometimes, I fear I'm on the verge of being Body Dysmorphic so I've never spoken about it before to avoid adding that onto my train of thoughts. Anywho, here's a little something I wrote after ages (for when I performed at an open mic recently for the first time.)
----
Skinny, dark, thin hair, flat chested, thick spectacles, scarred skin, that's how I see me.
As a kid, none of it really mattered to me,
the bubble burst when a few girls in school
wouldn't stop the bullying.
My face barely changed over the years
and neither did my body.
That was good enough for them to
call me names that still drive my
insecurities.
Darkness had always been my favourite;
it meant horror movies, stillness of the night,
quiet reflection, sneaking out and good music.
But people saw it as only the
inferiority of my skin
and how it meant I must have
superior homely skills.
Rotis had to be rounder ever since 4th grade,
sweeping and mopping would have to
become my hobby
and career was going to have to be going
to a house and turning it into a home,
fit for raising little replicas of me.
Beautiful long black locks flowing in the air
as I ran to show them off.
Next second, I remember being pinned to a chair,
tears flowing down my face and then walking out of the salon
with hair Sanju from Shaka Laka Boom Boom back then sported.
My hair became a reason for humiliation that day forward,
drove me crazy trying to always make it look
voluminous and luscious until the day I shaved it all off.
Blinded myself reading books in the middle of the night
as a kid because living in fiction felt much better
than living in our reality.
Thick glasses, thin face never really made up
for a pretty combination.
Painful lenses always triumphed
over thick spectacles.
Shame Shame Shame
was all that I was made to feel when people
spoke about my physique.
Most of them had heard of
high metabolism, anorexia and stress
but refused to join the dots.
Stuffed my face with food,
starved myself for days,
then ate all the junk food I could lay my eyes on.
And guess what? I remained the same,
now who would've thought THAT?
Years passed by living in this box of insecurities
before I realised that the only person
who held the key to it was me.
I unlocked the box, felt the sun,
rejoiced in my freedom,
probably for a little too long cause
I got sunburnt.
It basically meant that I started working
to make the world a better place
and the deplorable condition of the world
burnt my face.
Acne on my cheeks,
acne on my forehead,
acne on my neck,
here an acne, there an acne,
everywhere an acne acne.
I wanted to go back to my box so bad
but I've come too far,
I've grown too big for it now.
I've changed too much,
freedom can't burn me anymore.
There's too many dreams to fulfil,
people to meet, things to learn.
The box will have to let me be.
It'll forever have to remain
my forgotten friend and
I'll have to be me.
- a.m
----
Skinny, dark, thin hair, flat chested, thick spectacles, scarred skin, that's how I see me.
As a kid, none of it really mattered to me,
the bubble burst when a few girls in school
wouldn't stop the bullying.
My face barely changed over the years
and neither did my body.
That was good enough for them to
call me names that still drive my
insecurities.
Darkness had always been my favourite;
it meant horror movies, stillness of the night,
quiet reflection, sneaking out and good music.
But people saw it as only the
inferiority of my skin
and how it meant I must have
superior homely skills.
Rotis had to be rounder ever since 4th grade,
sweeping and mopping would have to
become my hobby
and career was going to have to be going
to a house and turning it into a home,
fit for raising little replicas of me.
Beautiful long black locks flowing in the air
as I ran to show them off.
Next second, I remember being pinned to a chair,
tears flowing down my face and then walking out of the salon
with hair Sanju from Shaka Laka Boom Boom back then sported.
My hair became a reason for humiliation that day forward,
drove me crazy trying to always make it look
voluminous and luscious until the day I shaved it all off.
Blinded myself reading books in the middle of the night
as a kid because living in fiction felt much better
than living in our reality.
Thick glasses, thin face never really made up
for a pretty combination.
Painful lenses always triumphed
over thick spectacles.
Shame Shame Shame
was all that I was made to feel when people
spoke about my physique.
Most of them had heard of
high metabolism, anorexia and stress
but refused to join the dots.
Stuffed my face with food,
starved myself for days,
then ate all the junk food I could lay my eyes on.
And guess what? I remained the same,
now who would've thought THAT?
Years passed by living in this box of insecurities
before I realised that the only person
who held the key to it was me.
I unlocked the box, felt the sun,
rejoiced in my freedom,
probably for a little too long cause
I got sunburnt.
It basically meant that I started working
to make the world a better place
and the deplorable condition of the world
burnt my face.
Acne on my cheeks,
acne on my forehead,
acne on my neck,
here an acne, there an acne,
everywhere an acne acne.
I wanted to go back to my box so bad
but I've come too far,
I've grown too big for it now.
I've changed too much,
freedom can't burn me anymore.
There's too many dreams to fulfil,
people to meet, things to learn.
The box will have to let me be.
It'll forever have to remain
my forgotten friend and
I'll have to be me.
- a.m
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