For I am a mannequin at a high-end store,
Stately, resplendent, insecure.
Their eyes all over me, their brazen touch,
Their disapproval, their disparaging looks,
Over and over, and yet again
Pull me down to the depths,
Of anxiety, overthinking and a constant need of validation.
For I am a mannequin at a high-end store,
Soulful yet faceless, feeling all the more
Them walking past, their raucous laughs,
Pointing fingers and scrutinising eyes,
Fill me with self loathe and despise
For I am a mannequin at a high-end store.
The poses, the dresses
The plastic skin, my impeccable hair,
Make me feel suffocated, exposed, and bare
And yet, if they don’t look at me,
I believe I am not enough.
Yes, I am that insecure
For I am a mannequin at a high-end store.
When the lights go off when no one is near,
I breathe with abandon, without care
I drop my inhibitions and snort and sob
I sniffle–
I laugh
For in those hours, I am me.
And if they see me then,
See me being myself,
See me for who I am-
Unfettered, unshackled, extricated, fearless
She is not a mannequin,
They would say,
For she is human.
Nivedita Mishra is a Jane Austen person living in a Frank Herbert world, dealing with its oddities.
Featured image credit: Pixabay