Perfectly Not



My armour

Bullseye to my blade

Imbedding deep

For pains I weep

Hungry teeth skewer muscle

My teeth

Because comparisons hurt

Blood stained spit, trickles

Wiped away by fingers ashamed

My skin welded to bone

Flames I turned upon myself

Ash caught by earth

Onto layers of prayer

Spoken by our grandmothers, for saviour

Yet still we cry

Generations silenced by promises

Morphing contractions, nothing changes

Woman whipped by ‘rear of the year’

Tits out

Swollen perfections

And stretched ideals

Suck on what you see

But so much more are we

Fresh eyes

Curious cries

Birthed from woman

And fierce love

Scares many

So imperfections

Are my sweet spot

To love

Loving what be

Saves from shame

The dampening weapon

When really

Imperfection has no form

No right or wrong

No weak or strong

Only the human

Being as best they can

The woman, the man

So my imperfections


Once my armour to blame

No more

No point to score

I am beautiful

No blame or shame for that.



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