Flawless Imperfection

In today's world, perfection is key; however, perception differs greatly.
Consumed and ruled by physical thoughts, from Botox to nose jobs, we want what we want.
How easy it is to lose sight and not see the beauty we possess, born with, naturally.
To say nothing of the things we do to achieve this perfection in itself untrue.
Outsiders looking in just don't understand the feeling, the need, this change commands.
There's always something, we can't deny, in which we are very dissatisfied.
From our weight to our clothes from our heads to our toes; something's not right and everyone knows.
There's miracle cream to fade the lines on beautiful faces aging with time.
The new diet pills to help us lose weight; quickly, for certain, but who says it's safe?
Let's not forget, if this better suits you, cosmetic surgery creates a new me too!
Who decides what's beauty to me?
Defining the flaws seen on my body.


A Taylored Moment of Self Image

I was young...I remember that.

I was a pre-teen, barely into my double-digit age.  I remember that, (not so fondly), because it was something that I carried with me all the way through to my adulthood.

Fanny Forehead.
That's the nickname I was blessed, (or cursed), with, (depending on who you asked).  Can you believe that?  One guess as to why I was so unfortunate enough to be called that.

My forehead is high...extra high.


I thought my teeth were too big for my face, I was flat-chested, (who wasn't?), my legs were too skinny, and my wardrobe was, (in my young opinion), lacking, to say the least.  I was always comparing myself to my female friends and cousins.

Again, what young girl doesn't do that?


But my mother did not name me Fanny Forehead.

Those little snot-nosed, always picking on the girls in the neighborhood, trying to act tough, but not, insecure, snot-nosed, (did I say that already?), little boys did.

Adding fuel to the fire, all I saw on the television and in the magazines were images of beautiful, perfect, pretty women, with their perfect bodies, having what looked to be the time of their lives, of course, with their average sized foreheads, (no surprise).

It was the perfect combination for the beginnings of a complex that would last well into my adulthood.


What do you call a feeling that you can't feel?
How do you put into words a pain so real?
It's deep, yet on the surface; it's raw, but not so new.
It's fresh, but no one sees it; it's there just meant for you.
It's numbness that doesn't tingle; like ice that isn't cold.
My mind just playing tricks on me, at least that's what I'm told.
Sometimes it's there for days and I think I can control it.
But, then it has a presence, refusing to go unnoticed.
Telling me that I want to, but I'm wishing that I didn't.
Knowing that I might need to feel the pain that really isn't.
Begging and pleading and screaming, it's the only way;
for me to feel anything, for me to have a say.
I need to be able to control the things around me.
Deciding the outcome of situations that surround me.
So, what do you call a feeling that you can't feel?
And how do you go about making sure that feeling's real?
I can try to explain to you as I bravely tell you what;
it's unfortunate, you see, that the thing I do is...cut.

A Taylored Moment of Self Harm

I was thirteen years old the first time I did it.

I have no recollection of where the idea came from.  I didn't see anything on television or read it in a book anywhere; nor have I ever seen anyone do it.

Just one day, one hopeless day, my mind took me to a place I'd never been before.

This place was different.

I was alone, but I wasn't afraid.  It was dark, but I could see clearly.  It was cold, but I was comfortable.  It was inviting and welcoming, and I wanted to be there.

It was different, yet familiar at the same time.

It was safe.

Born This Way

There's something that's been on my mind
I try but I can't seem to find
the words to say just how I feel,
because I'm certain that it's real.
I've got a lot to think about;
deciding when and just which route to take
and let my family know
these thoughts I'm having won't just go away
because I want them to.
I've tried, but I can't change myself for you.
To thine own self be true.
No greater words express the way I feel right now,
I'm standing proud,
in my own truth,
stating out loud that:
What you get is what you see.
And that just really proves to me
that this is not the phase you say;
it's who I am,
born this way

A Taylored Moment of Sexual Orientation

How old were you when you first knew?  Does that sound familiar?

I can't count how many times I have asked that question to various family members, friends and co-workers in my life.

It was never asked with any malice in my heart.

Then, one day, as I was once again asking a co-worker of mine that very same question, the words just didn't sound right to me as they were coming out of my mouth.

I felt like I was being insensitive just by even asking.

Never in my life have I been asked that question...so why would I think that would be a valid question to ask someone, just because they're gay?

If someone were to ask me that question, I would look at them like they were plum dumb.  Mainly because, in my mind, when directed toward me, it's a question that doesn't make any sense.

My heterosexuality wasn't a realization.  It wasn't something I actively chose to be.  I didn't have an epiphany one day or some mind blowing occurrence that brought me into heterosexuality.  No one turned me straight.

To my knowledge, I've always been heterosexual.  I was a heterosexual virgin.  Which, as far as I'm concerned, means I was born this way.

So, why did I have the audacity to think that a homosexual person wouldn't know themselves just as well, (if not better), as I know myself?

...Needless to say, I don't ask that question to anyone, anymore...I think it's rude.