Friday, July 6, 2012

Published and new poem

I can't say I'm not published now, because I am officially published in a literary magazine!  I found out about their call for submissions on Writerscafe and one of my poems impressed them, so now it is in a magazine called "Wednesday Night Writes."

I also wrote a new poem, which I just finished editing today.  I don't even remember what riled me up to write this but it is kind of a culmination of my feelings on the skinny beautiful women we admire and tear apart with media.  While women are a victim of all these fads and diets and trends, I have a certain dislike (hate is too strong a word) for the people that wholeheartedly follow these trends, whether they help to enforce them and to create them or whether they are outside the trends and simply follow them...

I don't know if I should be saying more with this poem, but it has gone through a lot of adjusting (rhyme scheme, evening out the amount of lines in each stanza) and I feel proud of the finished product.  Maybe I will change it later.  I don't know at this point.  I personally like it.

Crumbling Under a Feather:

You strip naked and then
Display your protruding ribs and your gentle curves
Bask in the lust and admiration of drooling men
Glued to their MacBooks, fingers pressed to nerves
You think you are a sex symbol
Your beauty commands respect
Strong and nimble
Attention simply what you expect
But you’re wrong about your power
You’re weak, tied with a tether
A fragile, dainty flower
Crumbling under a feather
You do what they tell you to do
Tiny tits are better than sagging thighs
Body hair like buzzing flies
You are a socialite
Swallow pills so hearty
Starve day after day as you become more vein
Stay up all night at parties
Prolong the pain
Hover over the toilet below
Half crying, half vomiting, hungover
Your guilty pleasures are reality shows
The Biggest Loser, Extreme Makeover
Love, sex and lust
Drive you to do this
Or maybe you just want trust
For someone to care instead of dismiss
The powder from the thick white sponge invades your nostrils
It is the bread, your red nail polish the wine
Vogue and Cosmo your glossy gospels
Your closet of designer shoes a shrine
Cocktail dresses and Gucci are your new burger and draught
Finding nourishment in Martinis, icy words
Why do you think this will make up for your past?
All it does is make it worse

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