As If

In a body that is all edges
There walks a young girl
Wielding a sledgehammer in her own personal hall of mirrors
As if seven years bad luck
Could hardly be worse than this
Because cutting herself on the crystal shards
Seems preferable to piercing her skin on her own jutting collarbones
And the glares of people who could never understand.

In a brain full of answers
There sits a young boy
Who builds an elaborate machine
To solve the ultimate question
That of life and love and purpose
And whether any of it is worth anything after all
He places the last screw with care
And weeps
Because as if this this convoluted apparatus
Can fix its broken creator counterpart.

In a house full of condescension
There stands a young boy
Pumping iron and despairing that it will never be enough
As if bulging calves and pecs and biceps
Will convince his mother’s new favourite guy to stop emphasising what a pathetic, worthless, freak he is
And he knows his efforts are fruitless
And that what his mother’s new favourite guy says is true
But he keeps pumping iron anyway
As if dumbbells have the power to change anything
As if hurt can remedy hurt

As if being idolised is better than being loved;

As if pain is really the price of beauty;

As if the perfect person
In the perfect life
Is really very perfect at all.

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8 thoughts on “As If

  1. Very beautifully and elaborately expressed! Unfortunately all too true, however I think it can be beneficial for those in a similar position to any of your created personas to read this and perhaps find meaning outside of their ‘obligatory’ routines. Thanks for another articulated and meaningful post!
    I certainly hope you aren’t personally in a position like one of these. And I imagine anyone you know who are would find someone like you to be very helpful and encouraging!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much! I genuinely appreciate hearing that anything I’ve written means something to someone. Sadly, this illusion of perfection is something we can all be sucked into at times and I find that I succumb to it often, so part of my motivation for this poem is to remind myself that perfection doesn’t really exist.

      Like

      1. I surely hope as time wears on you can find yourself increasingly detached from this mentality. I’m aware it is a daily struggle, and wish you the best with it!

        Liked by 1 person

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