Hello Powerful You,
I don’t know if you guys like what i have been posting? Please comment what you want to see more of or if you like the things i am posting. Here is another speech, this is a poem. I put this piece together from multiple poets i hope you like it.
When I was just a little girl I asked my mother will I be pretty. What comes after that? Oh yeah will I be rich mommy? Which is almost the same as pretty depending on where you shop.
Steve Schirripa once stated, “With girls, there’s an insecurity that starts early on. It hangs around them, like some annoying kid from down the block who won’t take the hint and go home when dinnertime comes. And moms are usually not great at giving their daughters confidence.” Insecurities are uncertainty or anxiety about oneself, lacking confidence. 62% of girls are insecure about themselves and how they picture themselves found out by a reliable source clean cut media. Pretty a program by various authors.
when I first learned no one could ever love me more than me a world of happiness previously unseen was discovered because somewhere along the line of aging and scrutiny and time I was taught to despise myself but I made sure I kept myself beautiful so someone would love me someday so I could belong to someone someday because that’s the most important thing a little girl could want, right?
When you were little I’m sure you use to dream that you could take your tummy to the butcher shop and he would carve off all your baby fat thin with a deli slicer. But what will you tell your 5 year old daughter when she can’t find her face in yours because of all that plastic surgery trying to make you pretty. Or what will you say when your daughter says mommy when I grow up I want to be a centerfold. Or how about when you’ll step towards your perfect groom in your perfect new body upholstered in your perfect new dress, and he will lift up your veil and see the wrong women.
When I was seven, I wanted nothing more than to be beautiful. Not beautiful and smart. Or beautiful and powerful. Just beautiful. I just wanted to be blonde and wear miniskirts and have a name like Sarah or Jennifer.
Then I turned thirteen and it was the first time I was embarrassed about my body and I remember stuffing my bra in the morning with tears stinging my eyes hoping, praying to something that I could look beautiful enough today braces and all for the ruthless boys who mercilessly told me I was worthless because my boobs weren’t big enough and I would go home and put on a sweatshirt with my eyes closed deny myself to be shown myself because I didn’t dare want to insinuate beauty in regards to something so insulting as my body
By 16 I was prickled with ointments, medications, and peroxides. Teeth corralled into steel prongs. Laying in the hospital bed, face packed with gauze, cushioning the brand new nose the surgeon had carved. Belly gorged on two pints of my own blood I had swallowed under anesthesia and every convulsive twist of my gut like my body screaming at me from the inside out “what did you let them do to you?” All while this never ending chorus droning on and on, like the IV needle dripping liquid beauty into my blood. I asked my mother will I be pretty? Like my mother, unwrapping the gift wrap to reveal the bouquet of daughter her $10,000 bought her? Pretty? And now, I have not seen my own face in 10 years. I have not seen my own face in 10 years but this isn’t about me.
I mean we all end up with our heads between our knees because the only place we feel safe is curled up inside skin we’ve been taught to hate by a society that shuns our awful confidence and feeds us our own flaws and sometimes when I need to meet the me that loves me, I can’t find her a reminder that the mirror is meant to be a curse so I confine her in my mind but when he or she shouts let me out we’re allowed to listen but it’s met by a chorus of conceited egotistical narcissist but since when was self-solicitude a sin since when was loving who we are made an offense by morons that don’t matter change this physicality and that one, don’t you shatter the illusion you could ever be something beyond your paper fine flesh and flashy teeth and fingernails echoic accusations of not good enough, never good enough have you ever felt so numb that it hurts entertain me whore you can’t surrender to them you gotta remember you’re the only thing you’ll ever truly have and no I don’t mean your body because someday it’ll go bad no matter what you do I mean you I mean the way your bright eyes go wild when you smile and how your laughter’s so melodic it’s like a song I mean the way your creativity’s compass that leads you to what you love you don’t need any miracle cream to keep your passions smooth hair free or diet pills to slim your kindness down and when you start to drown in these petty expectations you better examine the miracle of your existence you’re worth so much more than your waistline you’re worth the beautiful thoughts you think and the daring dreams you dream, undone and drunk off alcohol of being but sometimes we forget that because we live in a word where the media pulls us from the womb nurses us and teaches us our first words skinny pretty skinny pretty girls soft quiet pretty boys manly muscles pretty don’t you cry because a girl’s job is to look soft for you and I don’t care whether it’s your gender your looks your weight your skin or where your love lies none of that matters because standards don’t define you don’t live to meet credentials established by a madman you’re a treasure whether you wanna believe it or not and maybe that’s what everyone should start looking for
So Finally what will you say when you daughter approaches already stung, stained with insecurities, begging mom will I be pretty? Will you wipe that question from her mouth like cheap lipstick and answer no! The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be, and no child of mine will be contained in 6 letters. You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing, but you will never be merely pretty.
You Are Worth It.