Tamara Stamenkovic
Prose,  Written literature | Author's writings

What will people think?

Hey, you forgot to put on that smile today, the way they expect it from you, hurry up, they’re waiting! A sad girl with a heart as cold as a stone, how could you forget? Maybe the mask is hidden underneath the place where the bright side of you lost its way in the shadows? Lost girl, looking down as if your eyes glued to the concrete where your dreams are stuck and unable to breathe. Maybe you lost your glow there, too. They expected more from you. Foolish girl, you can’t shine in the dark. You can’t get away so quickly without a mask. You can’t get away at all unless you give at least a little bit of effort. You had one good thing, and you ruined it. How will the world survive without your beauty? What will people think? You can’t just go out and let the world see you that way, so real, honest, damaged, destroying everything around you, and especially yourself. Really, what does that look like? Why do you keep dropping the ball, drowning in your downfall? It’s not that hard. You must have mastered that by now. People don’t think you have such a beautiful heart, stop being naive, nobody’s looking at it. The neckline is the most important, focus on that. What is outside solely counts. The world doesn’t see inside, it cannot hear the chaos that’s constantly shedding like blood from your heart, ready and willing to bleed for words, in the name of healing. What do you have to heal, having such an astonishing soul? But there you are, with your face in the bloody swamp of poetry, like a massacre you can’t stop calling home. It doesn’t make a difference. Nobody wants to open an ugly package, you know? Why not take care of the outside before inviting people inside to look? That won’t save you. Don’t be naive. You have to have the perfect face, in the right proportions, made of the ideal material. You have to be perfect from head to toe, expensive, whether the details fit or no, anyway, do it. You have to, they’re waiting for you with their jaws lowered, and their eyes wide open. Yes, beauty hurts sometimes, but it’s worth it. Nobody cares how you feel inside – fix the outside, girl. Comb your hair and smile once, for them. Show your beauty to prove yourself worthy. Otherwise, you are no one and nothing. Head up, no looking down unless you want to be there. It’s a shame to feel defeated. Walk with your head up, present yourself as art that begs to be seen, greet whistles, laughs, invited or not, only to be significant. Beauty confirmed by the approval of strangers; you did it. Beauty validated at that level from one to ten; look, you’re ten. Beauty confirmed by just an inch in the waistband, amazing. Don’t you feel good? To be so special? Ideal and called such, rated on “life” scales? Well, you have to deal with it like you’re proud of it, be the same as them. The interior is nothing if the outside is unattractive, learn that. You have to learn that. Pause. Have you learned yet? It’s worth it, isn’t it? Make the exterior perfect, like a bait making the inside visible, show everything, undress. No one likes mystery. How could you have thought the opposite? Walk with confidence as the distance you once thought you should have for yourself, but you have to live up to expectations and don’t forget to say “thank you” to all the men who comment on how beautiful you are. Because you are, everyone said that. Why would they lie? They look in your face. Everyone looks in your face, though most pictures show that your lips are bigger to look super confident. Of course. Well, then be a good girl, and say “thank you.” It’s the least you can do. It would be so rude if you don’t. Come on, do what they taught you. Keep being proud as the sexual object expected to be. Do it as you love yourself. Give yourself a rating. You will be so much nicer and get out with a warning instead of a ticket, and get even more “love” for the lady you are. And the rest of us will pretend to be full of confidence instead of self-pity and insecurity. We’ll laugh and pretend you’re beautiful in every way because your breasts are, well, as they say. That’s right, nothing different than that. The scale said so, the meter at the waist and back still talks. The applause and the whistles said so. The world said so. Why don’t you believe it? Who could make you feel so insignificant then? Who said that?

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