By Rasa Kabaila
Author, Poet and Mental Health Nurse Practitioner
Too short
Too tall
Too fat
Too thin
Not blonde enough
Not busty enough
Set up to feel we are never
enough
With requirements so
specific that no one can fit in
Painting faces with makeup
To cover natural spots and
lines
Mask grey hairs and any
natural sign of aging
And you’ll be just fine
Be a carer — a career woman— just be perfect
Or you’ll be left behind
Prevent out doing men with
your intelligence or strength
Because that will intimidate
them — and that’s a crime
To be the perfect woman
Messes us up from the
outside in
Even if we chose to walk that
awful path of ‘perfection’
Where the hell would we
begin?
Yet, I still paint my face
and my greys
And spend money
Pulling out ‘unwanted’ hair.
(A type of skin that has
biological benefits
That was always meant to be
there)
I wish I could be my true,
holy and natural female self
Not caring what others think
Stick my middle finger
up to societal norms
And live my life completely
on the brink
But I’m not that strong
There’s not enough out there
to support such a simple notion
Perhaps collectively we could
all be more open minded
Through drinking a… magic
potion?
For now — I cling on to what I can
I won’t give up all of me
I remind myself constantly
that I am enough
And that—actually— I am free
I refuse to sacrifice my
wholeness
For those unworthy vultures
I remind myself that I am
capable of saying
‘No’ and ‘fuck you’
I’m not buying a lifetime
subscription into those maladaptive cultures
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