DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE Poem: 21st Century Medicine, by Alexis Hernandez

21st-century medicine, I plug in.
A simple thing that always wins.
Addicted to the flavorful taste
of euphoric bliss when my post is liked.

The craving for opinions I’d die to listen to.
Of course, I would. Why wouldn’t I?
You’re prettier; the comments tell you why.
But why do you always tell me
what is wrong with my body?
As if the voices in my head
become amplified when I look at you.

Your demeaning tone and your pungent odor
of judgment swarming my world
and becoming my reality.
I am addicted to these false realities.

I feel my curves as if I were a winding road
wishing they were a straight highway.
Show me a stop sign on my road to self-acceptance.
Take me to a place where I can pump love into myself.
Premium gasoline for this beat-down vehicle.
Turn me into Grease Lightning.
Tell me I am beautiful and make it so.
But you.
You make me feel worthless and hideous
inside and out.
I scroll through the images of the most beautiful girls
wishing I was a carbon copy of them.
A like, a comment, a superficial validity tool
I use to make me feel cool.

Is it too big?
I did nothing to it, I swear.
The boys try to see who I am
but fall short of discovering my complexity
by stopping to notice my thighs.
Look into my eyes instead of staring at my ass, please.
I am not an object of your fascination
to fixate on and mess within your imagination.

My body is mine and mine alone.

Unless you are the accounts.
Please like my photoshopped body in the post,
comment, tell me I am the most beautiful.
Tell me how to fix my face,
these things I can’t erase.
I was born this way,
and that is not ok.
Too fat, too skinny,
too short, and not pretty.
21st-century medicine,
I stay plugged in.