Why is it like this?
When I was younger
It didn’t matter this much
But now
My worth is determined
By a set of ideals
The poorest among us won’t know
Should I be
My own surgeon?
Should I take a knife
To the parts I don’t like?
And then bleed
These incisions
Of the misery, and the jealousy?
My worth is a number
The flickering scale
And the clothes on the rail
And it seems
All those young girls around me
Are comparing each other
And I’m under their scrutiny
Should I be
Recreating
The image of what
Was good at the start
When I know
Deep down
I could be contented as me
So long as no one could see
So now I’m disgusted
By the way that I think
And what it leads me to see
My view is obstructed
From a much greater need
The people around me in pain
Should I be my own surgeon?
Should I take a knife
To the parts I don’t like?
When I know
Deep down
I could be contented as me
So long as no one else sees
© 2009 Caryl Sumner