May 1, 2022


By itchysilk In THE ITCH

In her second piece JOY (our poet) details our on-going obsession with the and the impact it has on the young and old.


Stop staring at me like that,

I see it in your eyes you don’t like how my shoulders are built,

My back is hunched and my feet are huge,

You say , full brows and an oval shaped face,

All I can give is eye bags and badly chapped lips,

You want long afro hair but my scalp owns a tangled fringe,

Am I not enough for the spotlight,

They said, ‘’contoured cheek bones and a visible jaw line’’

I own acnes and a spotted face dabbed in  concealer,

Picking at the scabs on my skin,

Poking at them, hoping they peel off and then heal,

It makes my nail beds bleed,

I thought you loved my obvious collarbone,

You had said that my breasts were the perfect size, no?

I had them stacked and tied down to avoid its growth

The mirror told the truth even though it had a crack,

I walked past it and saw my bulging stomach,

After I’d stopped eating burgers and did the extra exercise?

I kept seeing the curves on my hips,

The big Tees did not do justice,

I tried out the new trend, big jeans,

‘’Six feet tall is the criteria ’’ ,

Take a walk, jog, run , run even faster,

‘’Don’t come back with folds on your skin’’, let that be your mantra,

Broadway praises the pretty girls with long legs ,

For this I tortured myself with steroids and meds,

Please pause, continue and then pause, again.