Plain or Pretty – we can all relate to this

A reminder about the challenges of growing into ourselves.

Unknown
I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear skinned smiles
Who married young and then retired
The valentines I never knew
The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful
At seventeen I learned the truth
And those of us with ravaged faces
Lacking in the social graces
Desperately remained at home
Inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say “come dance with me”
And murmured vague obscenities
It isn’t all it seems at seventeen
A brown eyed girl in hand me downs
Whose name I never could pronounce
Said: “pity please the ones who serve
They only get what they deserve”
The rich relationed hometown queen
Marries into what she needs
With a guarantee of company
And haven for the elderly
So remember those who win the game
Lose the love they sought to gain
In debitures of quality and dubious integrity
Their small-town eyes will gape at you
In dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received at seventeen
To those of us who knew the pain
Of valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
The world was younger than today
When dreams were all they gave for free
To ugly duckling girls like me…
We all play the game, and when we dare
We cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone
Repenting other lives unknown
That call and say: “come on, dance with me”
And murmur vague obscenities
At ugly girls like me, at seventeen
                    by Janis Ian
photo credit
daily post prompt: Dubious

No Longer Can I Fill these Shoes

No longer can I fill these shoes.

Yet I remember a time

when the patent leather formed neatly around my feet

soft, worn, comfortable

Soles carefree and made of ease

durable for playing chase and hide and seek

or freeze tag in the dark

the lining soft enough for catching fireflies

and my parents goodnight kisses

The tips firm, protecting toes that so easily stumbled.

The heels perfectly made for scuffling

for dragging my feet when it suited

Shoes, easy to pull off for bedtime stories

and tuck-me-in time.

 

No longer do they fit, those shoes

Yet, it matters not.

I have merely grown into a larger size

the soul intact.

 

My Art 050 (1)

 

art by C. Dennis-Willingham