It’s Throwback Thursday! Nearly the weekend… Today’s poem was originally posted in February. It’s about the way in which our society encourages us to base our self-worth on looks and image – which can have devastating mental effects.
A wee little pig I have become,
My mind wallows in mud and scum,
Hairs that sprout from my chinny-chin-chin,
Bulging flesh and stretching skin,
In my quest
For a heavenly love
I discovered the devil
His pitchfork stabbed my mind
Oozing toxic blackness
The ghosts of my former self
Lurk in the shadows of my mind;
Ethereal temporal echoes,
Ever-present relics of the past
The ghosts of myself past
Linger on my shoulder,
Teasing, taunting, haunting;
They make my blood run colder.
Mine was a captive heart
With Stockholm Syndrome,
Cowering and adoring
Behind love’s iron bars;
My body was unchained,
A toy, a plaything
Passed among many hands.
So easy now to slip from highs to lows,
To jagged-edged ridges of darkness nobody knows,
Consuming swathes of blackness that taunt the mind,
The heart and soul. The shape of oneself left undefined.