I’m fat. I’m dumpy
Rejected by society.
For not fitting the standards.
Not 5 foot 6, nor 34C, or D, or E,
Just A – below average.
Not size 0, or 2, or 4, or 6, or 8
I’m 12 – Too big to be perfect.
My locks don’t shine or curl.
My eyebrows aren’t HD.
I don’t contour,
or dress to conform.
I’m an outcast in a society dominated by perfection
Perfection garnered from software
that erases individuality,
removing so called flaws.
Sun kissed freckles and stretch marks,
Signifiers of joy and motherhood.
Rounded bellies no good either,
You’re not supposed to enjoy good food.
Grey that signifies age and wisdom,
A definite no for society’s perfection.
I don’t fit on your perfect scale,
Size 12, 36A, five foot, with
sun kissed freckles and non-penciled eyebrows.
I don’t hide my skin behind layers of makeup.
I’m me, a normal woman striving to fit
into a society beholden to editing software
and what sells magazines.
I’m not perfect by your socialist standards and yet,
I’m still beautiful, I’m still me,
in this world obsessed by a perfection
created by imperfect ideals.
© Amanda J. Evans
Excerpt from the book “Imperfect Paths”
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Foreword . . .
How many people can say they have not walked on rough terrain to get to where they are today? Most of us have been bruised and beaten to find out who we really are within; to find joy in this life we have been given. We are flawed beings with imperfect paths, and those turbulent journeys can either make us or break us.
It is easy to blame our past wrongs, the people who have tarnished our trust, and the bad bets the world throws at us. But we still hold the power to make a choice to become better than the humans who hurt us; to be the voice of change by learning from the experiences which have attempted to break us. Along the many roads traveled, the decisions we make will determine who we are to become.
Take a moment to walk in another’s shoes. The poets here have opened their Pandora’s Box, not to release the personal demons that taunt or once to keep them confined, but to share how to sever the weights one is shackled to.
Donna J. Sanders, Author
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