Perfectionist Rehab

Once upon a time, she was carefree,

She danced through life lightheartedly,

She joked and she rambled,

Before her thoughts became shambled.

They say the first blood a woman flows,

Is from biting her tongue amidst her foes.

Restraint and control,

Doused rigmarole.

We battle the urge to be seen,

Fearing a depiction obscene,

Of the arrogant woman displaced,

From meekness and dainty grace.

The novel idea – that women are people,

Need not be reduced to character fecal,

Simply for emoting or daring to stand,

Before a crowd, taking command.

It’s true things are better than fifty years ago,

But there’s constancy erected in Legos.

The belief is engrained and accepted as truth,

Femininity a slur sans ruth.

Don’t believe me? Ask your sisters and daughters,

And notice how her resolve falters,

When alone in a room occupied by the Other,

She’ll don masculinity in front of your brothers,

To prove she is cool! She’s one of the guys,

Glitter and bows and pink she’ll “despise”.

Still not convinced? For my next trick,

I’ll remind you of the reality sick,

That girly characteristics displayed on a man,

Are forbidden.

Boys are taught from the early onset,

To leave behind any feminine asset.

No glitter. No long hair. No crying. Be tough.

Anger is allowed as long as you’re not too rough.

Boys are taught to hate,

Traits girls are told are great.

So, when the time comes for opposites to mingle,

Is it a surprise that alarms jingle,

When the glaring divide becomes clear,

She’s allowed what you made disappear.

Anger is allowed as long as you’re not too rough,

But when was rage ever enough?

A competent female who doesn’t sugarcoat,

Is a bitch.

I miss having fun, I miss goofing off –

But anticipating criticism made me stop.

I’m too serious now, my laugh-lines have faded,

My person diluted and joy downgraded.

The pretty-pursuit to become disguised,

And invisible from critical eyes,

But not too done up!

Or you’re a slut.

Smile so They don’t think you’re curt!

Smile too much and you’re either dumb or a flirt.

Be well-groomed and fix your face,

Lacquered and slathered always to chase,

Mediocrity, sameness, you must in blend,

Or else you’re a target we’ll never defend.

But here is the issue – some of us must stand out,

Else fruitless would be the chase we’re all about,

Towards success and dreams, the truest desires,

Are often granted to human outliers.

So how do we deal with the tragedy within,

When we can’t conform to role we’ve been destined?

How to reconcile the hope to set yourself apart,

Knowing you’ll be hit with missiles and darts.

Don’t care what other people say!

And yet, the only traits we may,

Possess are those bequeathed from another,

This is the conundrum that me smothers.

When to listen? When to ignore?

I genuinely don’t know anymore.

My true self will draw attention, this much I know,

And this is why it’s drowning below.