Metamorphosis

Cherry

By LittleRedHat

Wed, 30 Mar 2022
  • 384 reads
5 comments
 

When I was eighteen, society told me

“You’re not the right sort of girl -

Your belly’s too round

And your hips are too wide

Sure, your bust isn’t bad

And yes, your legs are quite long

But not long enough

To extend your meagre height.

 

For this offence

We will deny you stylish clothes in your sizes

But there’ll be plenty of bows and ruffles

‘Cos fat people love bows and ruffles

Or at least, we think they do

We don’t actually ask the fat people

Or even care what they think

Because we don’t want THEM to look good.

 

Our torture rack is the one

That shops put the magazines on:

You will be constantly reminded

Of how your stark refusal to starve yourself

Or to exercise until you collapse

Or to simply have better genetics

Renders you inferior to those we choose to honour.

Look how perfect they are, and weep.

 

Then again, we treat these people like objects

And you don’t want that, do you?

So go ahead – don’t dress up nice

And instead, bury yourself in books

And call yourself an intellectual

And claim you’re above all that.

Plus, there’s your so-called “mental issues” –

Just defects by any other name.

 

(Well, we mean, given you’re a woman

In a patriarchal society

There’s a good chance you’ll be objectified

And belittled and ignored

And otherwise disrespected anyway -

But hey, them’s the breaks.)"

 

Church hardly helped the problem.

God’s representatives insisted

That I mustn’t dress for the male gaze

Or flaunt myself like a wanton whore

To tempt them away from righteousness.

At the same time, I must be modest and obedient

Because men were my superiors.

The fact all priests were men wasn’t relevant.

 

So, I did what society said:

Covered up my body in baggy clothes,

Sharpened up my mind

To disguise my figure’s defects.

Read all I could

Studied all I could

Learned all I could

And yes, I genuinely loved it –

But my reflection still caused me to cry.

 

When I turned thirty, I finally realised

I didn’t give a flying fuck what society thinks.

 

Other rebels had risen up with me.

Fashion makers finally found the extra fabric

They had apparently been lacking all these years.

Bigger bodies braved and conquered the catwalks.

We chose nutrition over narcissism, fullness over fear

And dressed to the nines and gave each other high-fives

To please ourselves, and not the paparazzi.

We had just as much right to be beautiful.

 

My lipstick is my badge of confidence, not my mark of Cain.

My high heels are not the hooves of Mephistopheles

But the strut in my stride, the swing in my step

And the height I need to tower over anxiety.

I wear them for me and nobody else,

And if you long to catcall or judge me a harlot

Maybe put yourself in a woman’s shoes before you speak.

If God cares more about my heels than humanity’s horrific suffering

Then frankly, I have little heed for His priorities.

 

You can still discuss Shakespeare whilst wearing a skirt

Or even babble on about Barthes in a bikini.

It’s not mind over matter, for although mind still matters,

I don’t mind about my matter anymore,

Because every molecule of my matter matters too.

This is my metamorphosis.

Certificate 12
Poem
Rant
Philosophy
Opinion

Comments

Submitted by airyfairy on

Hooray for you! It takes some of us a lot longer to get there, but it's always great when/if we do. 

Submitted by Kris on

From a mans point of view, I feel compelled to express myself as to why I relate to this poem. (see and feel it in a way)......

Some years ago I had a young teenage girl, some how by chance or fate, transfer over in one my of Jr. Lifeguard training course. Very much with same physical features and you describe with all the self esteem issues. Given the fact I'm surrounded by other trainers, instructors + under my leadership, I had seen this girl but only addressed her in a group, instruction course.

She always came early, and always alone, hardly ever uttered a word and very shy . I later found out she transferred from a local school group into our group at the prompting of her father because she was being teased and harassed by school mates and some cruel boys. Fact is she was trying to get away and find herself and do what she loved, freedom in the water and help people.

As hard as she worked, trained, studied, course by course, level by level she was always barely passing the various swim test..... One of the instructors came to me and asked for help, technically he would have failed her on one part of a swim test but didn't have the heart to because she was such a good student and very smart, the instructor asked for my help.

The next day I stood in background and watched, observed,  the rescue course.. the water drills etc., I calmly approached my instructor and told him, that's not a technique swimmer by the book, that's a power sprinter and a free diver. He looked puzzled and asked, "how can you see that"?

So I jumped in the water and swam with her for almost an hour, showing her small technique modifications according to her physical stature. But... & this is the big one.... When I got her comfortable under water in a near zero gravity environment, she was free. Free and fast, free and a deep swimmer, a free diver and as time went on I have seen fish follow her and sea turtles almost like study her or greet her in way... I don't mean to come across esoteric, but its my belief one has to have a special energy, vibe, in the water to accomplish this...... its that hour, those moments that inspired her.....

Today she's one of my instructors.... and on my rescue team, she's one of my power girls. And inspired other girls with many of her past issues and the ones you describe in you poem.

She still wears some baggy clothes... but when she sheds them, she stands tall in her rescue Lifeguard suit, because she's a pro. As you so eloquently wrote in your poem, "she doesn't give a flying fuck and she's rebel".... I can say I witnessed a metamorphous, as you described.

The biggest compliment I received from her was, "you see me"... and that inspires me.

I had just to write this, because your poem inspired me as I'm sure you have inspired others.

Thank you

Kris

 

 

Submitted by hudsonmoon on

Loved it, Red. I could imagine you on stage reading aloud. I relate inpart, having spent a good deal of my youth - along with my mother - in the boys ‘Husky’ department  at Sears. Yes, they had such a clothes department. Ha. 

Rich

 

Submitted by luigi_pagano on

I enjoyed your excellent rant and declaration of independence from the fashionistas, Red. Good on you

Kind regards, Luigi x

 

Submitted by celticman on

I do not see you, but I hear you.