Somewhere

Somewhere between the slimy pit and the solid ground,
Somewhere between depression and joy,
Somewhere between crippling anxiety and perfect peace,
Somewhere between curses and blessings,
Somewhere between bondage and freedom,
Somewhere between sick and healthy,
Somewhere between despair and hope,
Somewhere between doubts and belief,
Somewhere between starving and nourished,
Somewhere between comfort and agony,
Somewhere in the grays...
Somehow, I am not all or nothing.
I am not something or everything.
I am not black or white,
There is this middle ground,
This in between,
This has been and not yet,
This changing and becoming,
This chrysalis,
Semi-formed, tissue-paper wings.
Slowly, becoming,
And there is grace for this middle ground.

The Symptom

Oh skinny vanilla latte,
You claim to bring satisfaction with less,
But you only give less with longing.
Oh skinny jeans,
You claim to slim the frame,
But you only “look good” on those who are without curves.
Oh skinny models,
You claim, with your sunken cheeks,
Pre-adolescent stalks for legs,
Painful collar bones,shoulder blades and spines,
To be role models for youth,
But you only advertise death.
Your ashen billboards scream,
“Our culture is teaching its women to kill themselves.”
Skinny, you cry “broken.”
You cry “numb!”
You cry “extreme!”
You cry, “fake!”
You cry, “afraid!”
You cry, “deception!”
You cry, “bondage!”
You cry, “restriction!”
You cry, “SEE ME!”
And as you fade, we see you for who you are.
You are not so beautiful after all.