Posted in art, image, poetry, writing

Naked

Naked  I stumble to the full length mirror on the closet, squinting through the sleep still in my eyes not yet adjusted to the artificial light, abrasive and unforgiving.  I lift my shirt to assess yesterday’s damages, exposing the angles of manipulation to the judgment looking back, sucking it in from all sides, strategizing an outfit to minimize the lumps, a necklace to draw the eyes up, applying concealer to the body like I would a blemish, bathed in the makeup of a wardrobe.

I’d be hypocritical if I told you not to look critically at yourself. After all, I write poems that explore the complexities of who I am–the good, the bad, the perplexing, the mundane, and the ridiculous. I write to understand why sometimes I struggle with certain emotions and other times I can brush them off. I write to know more about myself, looking critically at the dark corners of my brain. I dive deep, drawing out secrets that hurt or burdens that tug down at my shoulders. I find this kind of analysis scary, but cathartic.

I know who I am and refuse to change. I’m stubborn like that.

All this being said, I also caution this critique of yourself, especially when it crosses into physical appearance. It’s always good to strive for something. It is never good to torture yourself in the process. I promise, you’re more beautiful than you know.

Tell me which aspects of yourself that you are head over heels in love with. I absolutely adore my sarcasm. I smile at my gift for all things random. I love that I can totally rock bedhead.

–Leanne Rebecca

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Author:

Poetry and music.

15 thoughts on “Naked

  1. I can’t help but continue because I hate this subject. Body image caused by a flaw in the society, not in the individual person. One should look within themselves and create themselves to become what it is that they truly from what they discover from true, self examination within themselves. Without this inner self examination, most never have the opportunity of knowing and understanding the beauty and greatness that is within them. If they were able to understand this beauty and greatness within them, this would nullify the need for body image in order to please others. Instead they could enjoy the beauty and greatness of who they truly are, no matter what those of society think or see. Society is not the judge of who the individual person truly is. Only the individual person can decide who and what they are, for only the individual can see the truth of who they truly are inside.

  2. I think most people (including myself) will not see their reality reflected in the mirror. I can accept myself as I am or get rid of the mirrors 🙂

  3. The person who appears when I write is spiritual, optimistic, humorous, compassionate.
    The rest of the time I am fear and loathing.

  4. Paradelle for James

    Routine runs to laugh behind the flake-barked tree.
    Routine runs to laugh behind the flake-barked tree.
    Whitey, my son’s dog, darts to freedom, breaks his heart.
    Whitey, my son’s dog, darts to freedom, breaks his heart.
    Whitey barked “freedom,” breaks routine, the darts flake.
    My son’s laugh, his heart behind, runs to the dog tree.
    Thick lips expect extra attention when cold weather arrives.
    Thick lips expect extra attention when cold weather arrives.
    He is so pure he gets awards that proclaim “angelic.”
    He is so pure he gets awards that proclaim “angelic.”
    Angelic lips proclaim extra weather. He arrives, gets attention.
    That cold, so thick: expect awards when he is pure.
    He always asks questions that stimulate even this old mind.
    He always asks questions that stimulate even this old mind.
    When spring arrives we throw balls, talk sports, eat strawberries.
    When spring arrives we throw balls, talk sports, eat strawberries.
    Always stimulate balls that mind strawberries. This spring, when
    He asks, throw old questions, mind sports, talk, even eat.
    He runs, asks routine questions, gets extra freedom, balls behind
    Strawberries’ pure lips. Expect to laugh, Whitey to stimulate
    Spring to sports. The flake always arrives. This old dog barked.
    Cold weather breaks his heart, thick mind darts, my
    Son’s always angelic. Proclaim when tree awards attention.
    When we throw, talk, eat, he is so that, he even that.

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