30 poems. 30 days: Day 13 The Surrogates (A poem)

What’s your type? Tall, thin, short, big, “long hair don’t care”, short hair with some flair, big feet, small hands; what is it? How many times have you changed who you were to fit this “type” for the person you were interested in? Be honest… The clip-ins, clip-ons, booty pops, pumping iron, wearing suits when you know you rock sneakers and hoodies because you’ve realized that’s what “they” like.

But check it…

We have to stop looking to other people for who we should be and start loving everything we are. Because who you are is the “type” for someone and for that you should rest easy. Stop giving birth to a child that doesn’t belong to you. Don’t feed into the clone hype loves.

Be YOU!

#noweight

The surrogates (a poem)

I named her “Maxine because she looks just like you.”

Wearing hair longer than yours,

with curls to add some flair.

A mole on her face,

in your exact same place,

as if God came down and put it there.

She’s a ball full of bubbles, more spunk, more fun,

with the same love you share for him.

And I don’t care, which one he picks, because neither of his chances look dim.

You both love what you don’t understand, wasting time on someone who has a choice.

You seal off your life, ignoring other men, not speaking because he took away your voice.

So caught up, in a fairytale,

that Disney himself couldn’t pen.

Waiting for him at the finish line, but you haven’t yet begun to win.

He speaks,

words of affirmation,

to keep you close to home.

But little do you know,

he’s not hurting at all,

because he’s found himself your clone.

4 Having a type