For Girls Like Me

Because I wanted to feel real,
because I wanted to get dirty,
because I didn’t think there was anything wrong
with working your ass off
in a way that most people would find
demeaning,
embarrassing,
I took the job.

Because I wanted to be explored,
because I didn’t mind being locked in that tiny room
with only a flickering light bulb
for company,
to stimulate me,
I agreed to answer your questions.

What I didn’t agree to,
or give my consent to
was this overwhelming feeling
of neglect.
Don’t you dare just sit there
and look at that other girl.
I’m right in front of you,
offering myself in the form
of someone who will always be too short,
who will never make the right first impression,
second best, even third or fourth.
Why can’t I be the best at something?

Because I wanted to impress you,
I opened myself up.
Because I wanted to feel wanted,
I turned myself inside out.
Because sometimes the only way to truly be clean
is to go outside, be naked if you have to
and roll your body in the mud and dirt,
leave lasting marks on your skin that some might find
ugly,
ireperable.
That’s the only way you can be real.
Remove the standard of beauty and leave behind
the raw, the tainted, the unsmiling,
the opressed woman who only wants to be beautiful
but she can’t because it’s impossible to be
truly beautiful in a world where true beauty
is only determined by what you look like when you wake up in the morning.

What about her face
when she holds her newborn baby?
What about the skin across her stomach,
once flat and appealing to your standards,
now stretched and scarred?
Is that a sacrifice? Or is it a reminder
of the love she carried inside her
for nine to ten months?

I want to stomp out your perfect eyes,
and set fire to your perfect lips,
I hate your perfect face and what it means
to girls like me.
I hate your profile pictures
and everyone who comments on them.
I hate everyone who tells you you’re beautiful.
Why do you have to publicize it?
Why does my confidence have to wane
when you step into a room?
I want to smash into you,
I want to destroy you.
But I don’t hate you,
how could I hate anything
as beautiful as you.
I want to ruin you,
you need to be brought down to my level,
you need to see the world from five feet
and four inches above the ground,
when your clothes don’t fit right,
and people’s eyes just pass over you.
Don’t tell me I’m beautiful,
don’t you dare say it!
I’m not there, I never will be,
I’m the epitome of average,
where is my exception?

Because I need validation!
Because I needed a paycheck,
because the world will always be against girls like me,
because you’re so fucking perfect and everyone loves you,
I took the job.