by Becky Blanton
Tell me all about yourself society said to me.
Tell me all about the good and bad. Tell me
about your mom and dad. Just open yourself
up and let me see. This would be my first
“Oh look here,” said society. “Look at
this big mess in here, You look like an
awful mess my dear.” These words
gave me anxiety. That was my second
Society squealed, “A better you I will make!” Put me in clothes
and masks that made me feel uncomfortable. I wanted to fit in but
how much could I overcome. I didn't realize being me was so bad,
so now I'm fake. This is the third mistake.
Society looked again to fix me. She called me fat
and ugly. She made me starve myself until I
looked sickly. “Society, am I now pretty?” Too fat
was my fourth mistake.
Society shook her head at my reflection. “You will never do;
you are too undeserving. No one will love you because you
are not worth anything. You will never achieve perfection.”
The ugliness I see is now my fourth mistake.
Society sneered at what I had become. So I played
the violin on my thighs. I didn't want others to notice
my quickening demise. She asked me how I could be
so dumb. I listened and that's my fifth mistake.
She again frowned upon me as the days went by. I
couldn't be the perfect smart sensible girl. I'd fallen
into a dark pit, a depression filled swirl. Society
would only sigh.
I kept quiet for my sixth mistake,
Society then called others to join her torture choir. I
cried at night with insomnia my only friend. I was
ready to put life to a stop, to put it to an end. Society
had thrown me into a fire. I should've cried out, but
that's my seventh mistake.
Society saw me brittle and weak. I drowned
every night in tears. I woke every morning to
face my worst fears. She saw all the damage
and called me a freak. That was my eighth
Society no longer talked to me. I felt the others
hate and heard their sneers. I was hated by all,
especially my peers. Society wasn't there to tell
me how to be pretty. I wasn't ugly. That was my
Society disappeared from my sight. I ran out aware
of the danger into the pouring rain. I'm sorry to
leave, but I can't take this pain. Society cried at my
funeral the next night. Apparently I was special, my
Society is ugly and has no virtue. You are
sweet, nice, and unique. Don't change a
thing or let society critique. They'll never
love the love worthy you. Please don't make
the same mistake.
Author: Becky Blanton
Major: English with emphasis in creative writing