Becoming Sexy

Becoming Sexy

A Poem by Neko Green

This is an ironic piece with an ironic title.


Black lace parades pretend modesties-

The sleeves are past the elbows, and dress falls past the knees.

Dark satin palette indicates darkest night-

When smooth, bare skin is just within sight.

She looks at the camera as if she’s staring at you-

And God knows what kind of eyes you’re looking through,

To not see the hand that highlights to her inner thigh,

Or the posture that thrusts her chest way up high.

As if because she’s wearing clothes the image is okay-

After all, to show skin veiled under forced delusion is in today.

And if make-up to hide blemishes is now the social norm,

I suppose no man will ever love me until I do adorn

The mantle that is a real women, the war that we call sex,

Because the world won’t wait forever, has no patience for ‘I’m not ready yet.’

So bring on bulimia and sweaty hands we clench our eyes tight to ignore-

Despairing triumph that we’ve become what is iconicly adored.

© 2010 Neko Green

Author's Note

Neko Green
I got a bit fed up with advertisements.

(c) Neko Green 2010

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It was okay. I just think that it needed something to bring out the picture more. Maybe some more details, and more describing words (adjectives) would make this poem better. By the way, I like your profile picture:)

Posted 11 Years Ago

excellent disassembling of media saturated illusions promenaded as the ideal to young women who are so deeply caught in the trenches of fantasy and the requirements of idiotic corporations shoveling the lie that one must aspire to be both madonna and w***e in one form they never even have a chance to cultivate original character~a biting~scathing exposure in poetic form~ sharp writing!~

Posted 14 Years Ago

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2 Reviews
Added on July 21, 2010
Last Updated on July 21, 2010


Neko Green
Neko Green


Well, I live off writing. I eat it, I drink it, I sleep it, I do it when I'm supposed to be doing work. My characters drag me along for the crazy ride as fast as my fingers can type. They often get im.. more..

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A Poem by Neko Green