Author: poetryfest

I remember my mom’s mirror. It was made of a warm beige wood swirled by dark knots and splintering at old corners that had been chipped. The thing had been with her since before I was conscious of what a mirror was. I only cared that it was big and beautiful. It stood on wooden legs and swung its oval face on metal hinges framing its slender sides. It was decorated by swirling red paint and polka dots that I would trace ad nauseum with my small pink fingers. I loved looking into that mirror. I remember in my youth racing to my mom’s bedroom after a bath, or shower, (or maybe a shobath which is what I called it when I would block the drain and let it fill as the hot water rained on my back.) And as I burst through her door, my short hair wet and spiky, I dropped my towel; ignoring her shocked face, and stared at my buck naked form, only to declare with such vigor and confidence “I’m beautiful!”

For the next decade I would struggle to say and mean those same words. I don’t know when I started to feel so insecure about myself, but I doubt school helped my esteem. I would struggle to make friends and cling to them out of my fear of abandonment. Why did I let it get so bad? I had no courage to speak up for myself, would struggle to talk to new people as I was easily intimidated, and could only dream about one day asking my various crushes throughout the years if they would even want to hang out. My self esteem eventually reached a point where I
felt I had to remain as skinny as that mirror. It was clearly my only value since the girls in my gym class commented on my thigh gap. I think I wanted to be skinny enough for the wind to whisk me away. Or maybe I wanted to be swallowed up altogether by the universe and disappear. No one would miss seeing me. Then he came along…

“You’re very beautiful.” He told me. It was something he had told me a few times before, but it still managed to shock me. I couldn’t believe it. You’re just saying that to be nice. Or You’re only complimenting me because I complimented you first… I truly began to doubt those words when his lies came to the surface. Still I told him I forgave him. I thought it would change things.

Why was I so desperate to cling to him? In that moment where we laid together, his hand and fingers tracing invisible paths on my waist down to my hip, just wanted to forget. I wanted things to go back to how they were. Where we could just smile and joke and laugh like old times without remembering how he had hurt me and how everything had changed. I could never be his again and he would never be mine. But it felt so real and intimate that I wanted to believe he actually loved me, and still did, despite him admitting otherwise. How could I be so stupid?

So oblivious to not notice? He doesn’t love me… This isn’t real to him. It hurt too much to hope for otherwise.

In the following weeks I would play our moments together in my head like a broken record. I obsessed about it. Agonized. Searched for an answer that didn’t exist. Our moments were gone, but I would cry about missing him and then catch my reflection and hate myself for it because I knew he didn’t feel the same. He had claimed he wanted to remain friends but made no effort toward it and I began to realize I was worth more. Dammit effort was the bare minimum of what I was worth. It was then that I decided I would focus on myself and rebuild the esteem that I had let crumble all those years ago. I would find peace and love within myself and let go of the one who had hurt me, because otherwise, I would be letting down that small child who still lived inside me. And I know she deserves the world. She deserves to love who she sees in the mirror again

Why are some days
still a struggle to cope?
Why am I constantly
living my life in hope?
Why won’t my head
stop and pause?
Why do I now feel
I’ve become a lost cause?
Why do I overthink
each and every day?
Why must i always criticise
all I do and say?
Why am I not content
with all I have around?
Why is this invisible weight
dragging me to the ground?
Why is it some days
feel that extra tough?
Why am I always feeling
as though im never enough?
Why am I comparing myself
against all the rest?
Why can’t I just be happy
at peace and feeling my best?
Why are they cutting so deep
all these thoughts that I feel?
Why is it taking so long,
for my heart and head to heal?

©Aug ’24, Ailsa Wright

We were worried about
Your waist when
You ate that food,
Just now.

Aren’t you worried
That you’ll grow a size?
You worked so hard,
Don’t throw it all away by
Eating.

You’re counting calories
Right? It’s a little late,
Maybe put the fork down?

Aren’t you worried about
Growing a size? Or two?
You worked, really, really, really hard.
Now you’re going to throw it all away by
Eating?

You want to know, what’s really bothering me is LIFE!
Death after life, byes to indict life after death coincides.
Were program to die, in order for one to birth life!
You want to know, what’s really bothering me is LIFE!
Say your goodbyes for now, it could be your last and with your soul cosign!
Insight requires, inspire the idea that denies the truth for our eyes and now decide!
You want to know, what’s really bothering me is LIFE!
Death after life, byes to indict life after death coincides.

You won’t be able to see yoursel- What the fuck am I saying…
You don’t know who I am, You don’t know I exist.
You’d be in the moment, So present, So Bliss-
Until some traumatic thought consumes you,
And you’re forced to think about the stray cat who
I like to call the bleach cat because he’s black and
white with just the littlest bit of copper on him so it
looks like God fell and accidentally spilled bleach on
the poor ca- I’m doing it again…
Straight masking tape plastered across your eyes,
Bragging about how bodacious you are-
Lemme stop you there because I know right now,
Because I know you feel fucking ugly.
“You need some more shape”
So worried about when you gon’ get some titties
You hate your nose,
Yet I love that we’re so damn nosy.
That’s why I can’t wait for you to love these piercings.
One day, you’ll learn how expression protects us from our mind.
As the world tries to corrode your compassion and
The fear of corruption manifests as the contortion of your flesh.
That ugliness is not you… and on the bright side
You get to choose how you feel- Isn’t that exciting?!
A flashbang alerting you of the present
Endorphins Grinding on the pain,
Finally experiencing pleasure without coercion.
The slick slippery scythes slicing through your skin,
It makes me smile just thinking about it.
Wet rags wiping away your worries.
One day you’ll be lying across the operating table.
Gunshots echoing as they break your bones,
Finally achieving your dream of heavy metal.
It won’t be until 18 ‘til you learn what PTSD looks like
It’s in your community
It’s in your classroom
It’s in the photos of xrays, embellished with a dash
Of suicidal mania
and the comments about how fat that ass is
swallowed away by your spam page.

Why is my size your concern?
You feed me and ignite me,
yet as I rise big and mighty,
you smother your warmth
and leave me large.
Raged, I destroyed.
So I wore a grey veil
to capture your attention.
Ah, you see me now.
Put me out, rescale me,
return me to my most lovely size:
tiny and controlled.

At a country farm stand, hot peppers and eggplants
shine in woven baskets next to celery and melons. Beyond,
acres of tomatoes blush in the pleasure of ripening. News

videos show stiff-faced staff members at the nearby
migrant detention facility leading weeping children away
from their sobbing, incarcerated parents. The aroma

of cantaloupes smoothes the air. But where are the onions?
Still in the fields for lack of hands to pluck them
from the rich soil, to place them beside the baskets

of peppers and eggplants at the roadside market
near acres of tomatoes softening in the eye-baking sun.

Flames chasing after the hall of fame, yet people still refuse to take part of the blame
Embers spreading at the speed of light, all because our “leaders” believe the climate is alright
Buildings burn and lives are turned, all because of lessons some refuse to learn
What will it take for them to see what we see? Or will they always refuse to accept that people
are in misery?
Riots and threats, bombs and bloodshed, all our generation knows and yet somehow our
“leaders” have no regrets
Viruses and outbreaks, attacks and so called “mistakes”, why do they refuse to accept that our
world is at its final break?
We will keep fighting and hope our voices will be heard, because we are sick and tired of
watching the world burn

Implicit impending inured intonations
Illicitly intending impure implications

If I improvise idioms I’ll identify ill intentions
I’d incentivize intuitions into improved interventions

Ignorance inches incrementally into IQs
Insolence itches. Instrumentally it imbues.

Idealizing impropriety; improper ipso-facto.
Infantilizing id idolatry indoctrinates incommunicado.

Imbibe isolation; iconoclastic impudence
Inscribe innovations; idiosyncratic imprudence

Indolent industries insure immortality
Insolent insurees incur immorality

Ignatius ignites insipid infernos
Impatience incites intrepid internals

Ignorant industry inviting insurrections
Incarcerated infantry inciting inflections

Influences indenture indolent individuals
Incongruous. Immature. Impotent. Indivisible.