Why do we
care more about the way others see us
than the way we see ourselves?
Why does she
stand in the mirror crying,
feeling conflicted, distraught, overwhelmed?
Why does he
bend himself over backwards,
to show others that he's accomplished?
Why do we
watch what we say, keep appearances,
to hide the fact we're impoverished?
Why do we
listen to all of their criticism,
while tossing aside our self-praise?
Why does she
feel her efforts will never be
enough to draw in their gaze?
Why does he
have to give up all that he loves,
just to do something they find "acceptable"?
Why do we
make changes for these people who,
no matter will always be skeptical?
Why do we
ignore what's in our hearts
just to listen to all of this scorn?
Why can't she
look at herself and be proud
and know in her heart that she is adored?
Why can't he
enjoy the path that he's chosen
and know in his heart that it's the right one?
Why can't we
shut out all this white noise
and tell ourselves that we are done -
Done being beaten down, criticized, belittled?
Done with their fickle words, done being crippled
by what they think is right, what they think is best,
when we're the only ones who really understand the feelings inside of our chest.
The ones that tell us that we are enough,
that we are beautiful, that we are tough.
That we are allowed to reach and take hold of
what makes us happy, to do what we love.
But we don't. So she...
Still stands in front of the mirror,
hands tracing down her form,
tear running down her cheek as their words echo:
"Just another ten pounds or more."
So he...
Puts down his pen with a sigh
and tucks his manuscript away,
to put on his black suit and tie:
"You've got real money to make today."
So we...
Go another day struggling
underneath this unbearable weight,
Thinking: "When will it ever be enough?"
Resigning ourselves to a fate...
That we never wanted for ourselves.
Why?
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A Writer's Ravings
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