Poems about Body Image (reflections at the end of poems)
Body Image by Claire Foster
I want to learn to love myself Break away from what I've become Who wants an empty skeleton when beauty lies within When my body cries out to me I close my eyes but when my mind scolds me I cant disobey Captivating ads and announcements so clear Beauty and success just one pound away Happiness just 2 and self love quite a few Lost in a muddle of my own circumstance critisising echoes keep me awake in the night barriers and blockades that keep me in controll whilst I pretend that im alright You have to understand the image staring back at me Is not what you see a mirage running a need to endanger my duration here It's so messed up I'm in an emotional state forcing me to seek comfort from an empty plate I starve myself instead of my addiction I'm addicted to a notion of a tall slender vision I have to stop reaching for that one unrealistic dream. Reflection: The theme of this poem is about wanting to overcome anorexia and wanting to love yourself, but not being able to accept yourself for who you are.
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Imperfection by Rhonda M
My thighs are fat Shaped like a pear Yet the best of me Does not lie there My tummy a bit chubby Not flat in years Yet even this Does not bring tears The arms is another Not perfect spot Yet one must work With what they've got I may not be perfect In society's eyes With a round belly And pear shaped thighs Yet to my little boy I am the perfect ten He don't care if mommy Is chubby or thin The best of myself Lays not in my weight My heart decides my destiny My actions my fate Why waste all of life Worrying about imperfection When you have special people Showering you with affection? Reflection: The poet talks about loving yourself for who you are on the inside as opposed to loving yourself for what's on the outside. The poet says that who you are as a person defines you and makes you special, not your dress size.
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Beautiful Bodies by Nazreen Fazal
Shopping with girlfriends or at the hairdressers’, Flipping through magazines as I get my hair done Page after page of glossy perfection Sensuous curves and caramel skin so soft, Image after image Mocking me, calling me names One places me in the ‘before’ selling distant dreams of a beautiful ‘after’ Dreams contained in big bottles and labelled lotions, My skin needs lightening, body some tightening or, they reveal, I face a future so bleak- Men’s rejection, collapsing careers and eventual dejection I can’t look at the mirror no more That image is not me It’s an ugly monster I’ve created Done with this Frankenstein Time to change Throw out all Chips and chocolates, The cheese in my spaghetti, sugar in my tea Push out carbs too -out you go potatoes My body is in my hands and I am its sculptor Carving those curves, perfecting that pout I feel good – I must be beautiful now! A glance at the magazines- a broken heart The images look thinner, Eyes brighter, lips fuller Skin flawless with that ever present glow My shame burns me Why can’t I be like them? I sit at the table Boiled vegetables on my plate Stuff myself and then run to the toilet A finger down my throat Out comes it all *Flush* Some calories down the drain! An evolving competition Me and those calculating calories till death do us apart Tiredness treads in now But that’s a good sign! I must be on my way Hopes high I head to my ally ‘Mirror Mirror on the wall- who’s the thinnest of them all?’ no lies, hidden truths no more Deep breath, eyes open and I see A whale A big ugly whale Frustration. Anger. If perfection eludes me, I must step up my game. Pit stop and I pick up some pills Now guaranteed a fine future ahead I take them- 1,2,3 at a time Day after day, week after week, My body now starved, some pills popped, I feel different. My body’s not mine, Instead a dying corpse A sculptor’s worst nightmare His masterpiece shattering in his hands. In my race to perfection, I’d forgotten That perfection, didn’t exist Not in this world. I wasn’t the lie, it was the image Starved models make up caked, Living lies, Photo-shoots then photoshopped Altered curves and concealed spots Plastic smiles then painted on Creating a fantasy; destroying million others And mine. So I take a step back and let my body speak for itself It tells me to stop, this torture unbearable, And look within While my body starved, my soul did too In the pursuit of perfection, I’d lost not one but two The trails were testing and it took me some time But I turned to the one who is perfect and he sorted it out Cracks mended and tears stitched I’ve prayed and the answer was lucid To look beyond the body and go for the soul This I shall polish and let shine for the world The Creator created me this way and so it shall remain I’m beautiful and so are you. Reflection: The poet's idea behind this poem is what society does to people and to their perception of what "beauty" is. The poet wrote this poem to spread awareness of what society can do to us and the severity of how it can tear us down and make us desperate to follow the "flow" of the media.
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Society's Puppet-Slave by Kirsten Alexandra
Tie strings to my back, Arms, And Legs Tell me what to do, and where to go next Shove a magazine picture in my face Tell me that this is what I should look like, This is what I should be like, ...right here on this page Tell me that the anorexic, blonde chick is the definition of beauty Tell me that I'm ugly, Tell me that I'm wrong, Tell me lies. Try to change my hair, My clothes, My personality I refuse; I don't let you Tell me that flaws are not reality I want to stay different Call me a b****, A s***, And an undeserving liar. Tell me that I need to burn in hell And live in fire. Harrass me, Call me names, Because I am not the same I get overwhelmed. I can no longer live this way, Tighten the belt around my neck, Cover my head with a paper bag, Listen to my heavy breathing, Look down at my moving chest. Let five minutes pass Until my chest no longer moves, Until my breathing is no longer heavy ...it is silent Look at me through different eyes Tell me that I'm perfect Tell me that my flaws no longer exist Tell me that the girl in the magazine is fake Tell me that photo editing changed her, as a matter of fact Tell me that she is really fat, Tell me that her hair is actually brown Tell me I am beautiful, Tell me I'm perfect, Tell me I don't need to change Tell me that I am no longer, Society's Puppet-Slave. Tell me the truth... Reflection: This poem also refers to society's making of what "beauty" is "meant" to be. The poet writes about what girls think of themselves whenever they compare themselves to whatever they see in the media and how it can totally destroy a person's self-confidence and dignity.
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