I tip-toe through this life
weighing too heavy on the Earth,
afraid she’ll creak under my feet
with her disapproval resonating far and wide.
I crawl on the ground
like my feet are too dirty for the floors,
worried they’ll leave a tread in places
that are not meant to be mine.
I love but not too deep
I live but never enough
My desires are mere taboos
and my existence, a faint whisper.
The sighs of my pounding heart
and the blood under my flushed skin
have told truer tales of me
than my voice and my words.
I am sorry if I am saying too much
I know that these thoughts are of a fighter
but I have too long been a seamstress
tailoring herself for this perfect world.
With the wounds I didn’t ask for
from the mutating labels I keep striving for,
I can now see these eggshells I walk on
for the broken glasses they have become.
So perhaps in due time, when I’ve healed enough
I’ll find out what else this good girl can do.
© Madhuvandhi Ravi
Growing up, I often worried about forming the perfect persona for people to look at, admire, like and love. I couldn’t stand disagreements, so I would lower my voice, change my opinions or accept a false stand and apologize. Tailoring myself to match the energy of my room seemed very rewarding initially. But soon enough, it started to blur the lines between things I did for my happiness and others’ acceptance. This poem is to give you a glance into my version of a people-pleasing good girl persona and becoming aware of it.
If you have a similar story, I would like to hear your version!
