The Door

This is a poem about body image, feeling rejected by people for what I looked like and measuring my self-worth based on what other people thought.

I stood in a blank room

Facing the door

No one was around me

I walked towards the entrance of the door

My heart racing, my palms sweating

The door did not open

No one had wanted to open it

I came back to the blank room

My thighs no longer brushed up against each other

My stomach no longer had folds

The door did not open

I came back to the blank room

Wearing a fresh coat of paint

My complexion was lighter

My lips glossed over

The door did not open

I came back to the blank room

With a new coat of paint overtop

My complexion was darker

My eyes were lined in black

The door did not open

I came back to the blank room

My thighs brushing against each other

My waist small

The door did not open

The next time I came back

My face had crusted, old paint

My body had scars

I was dreadfully hungry yet so full

I began to cry

Tears created little streams against the paint

The door still did not open

The last time I came back

My form was natural

My face was bare

I ate to satisfaction

And this time

I opened the door myself