As mothers, who are concerned,
as sons, who are seeking guidance,
as daughters, for whom our fears mount?
I don’t have the answers, maybe
not even the beginning of a response,
but I’m trying to get through to some level
of sensibility, need to know what it takes
to instill respect, to restore reverence for
all that in is feminine; seems we are numbed
lulled into complacency, brainwashed by
a consumer-driven machine that pumps
out sexuality as entertainment, infiltrates
our collective psyche, equates exploitation
with attainment, debasement with reward;
are we so desensitized as to not recognize
that merely turning off the television, or
ignoring the images in the check out line
still amounts to complicity; what amount
of surgical intervention is required to
eradicate this societal disease; restore
compassion and caring to our culture?
(This poem, inspired by a series of dreams, responds to the The Daily Post prompt: conversation.)
Nice poem ^_^ the pressure of being perfect seems engraved into our culture. It’s hard to find a nice balance between fitting in and doing what makes us happy. Half the time I question why I want to dress a certain way, wear my hair a certain way. It’s hard to tell what I like and if I truly like it or if I like because so many outlets have told me to like it.
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It’s so true. At damned near 60, I am pushing back.
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I just turned 27 last month and I have gray hair growing in. So many people, especially family members point it out. It’s frustrating because for a while I plucked them out but then I stopped. I’ve spent my entire life growing out my hair and now I’m plucking strands because they’re gray? It sounds so ridiculous but the pressure to do something about them is still there. Why can’t they just accept that I’m Rogue from the X-Men now? lol
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Exactly. I’ve had gray forever, too. Even had a co-worker tell me she was embarrassed to present with me, so I dyed my hair. Stopped that five years ago, and now get compliments on my salt & pepper – go figure. You’ll always be Rogue in my heart, lol
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Yes, it is so easy to be complicit by the act of being silent. I am as guilty as the next person. In my head I scream at these injustices. My younger self was way more vocal than now. I’m hoping that my venture into blogging will give me my voice back..not sure where it went.
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I know what you mean, about losing your voice. Blogging has helped me, but it’s a bit like standing on a ledge –
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Wow, this is so powerful!
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Thank you, Terri
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vj, great poem, I liked it a lot ❤ xxx
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Thank you!
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Very nice… At least u tried…
👏👏
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Thank you.
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