Of Me

Nicole Marie

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nicole marie - Final
This poem was a hard one for me, but so very, very easy to write.
I have questioned my own size and shape since I was thirteen years old. After a school nurse was disappointed with my weigh-in, I went home and buried my face in my mother’s chest and wondered what I was “supposed” to look like. Too short, too tall, too thin, too wide. I drink and I eat sweets, but not a moment goes by without me questioning my shape and my own self worth along with it; these thoughts are a plague to those struggling with self esteem issues, from the time they climb out of bed to the moment they undress at night. And while each day is a struggle, I have managed to find small pockets of peace within myself. We are all different, and we are all beautiful in our own way. Who wants to look like everyone else? What a boring world we would be living in. I try daily to remind myself of all the other things I like about me.To all those others sailing along in my boat: take a deep breath, throw your shoulders back, and make the mirror your new best friend. After all, confidence is sexy.A huge THANK YOU to Adam of Chowderhead for allowing me to cover something I am so very passionate about, on his amazing blog!
xoxo, NM
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such rough patchwork

on such a young thing,

no glass smooth flesh

just marble valleys

on a pale pink landscape.

those smiling lines on her back

aren’t the wings of a butterfly,

those glowing highways

on her thighs

don’t twist with assurance.


a real life caricature

all lowered brow, all rising forehead,

the living reflection

of a fun house mirror

she looks away as she dresses.

cemented tongueless

in a wavering cave

the elements get in easily here,

she hides her breath

until the flooding stops.

nothing matters

when the roadway

is littered with flaws,

she only trips

over the rubble.

all is wrapped in silence

when she wakes,

eyes shut tight

no shedding litters

the bedroom floor.

how can she grow

when her sight

is a fogged mirror,

when words fall so hard

from a slapping screen door?

that soft skin,

gathered like wrinkled blankets

beneath each arm,

it is not a sign of prosperity,

she does not raise her chin.


no other is in want

of a hard bruised shook up

stretch of pale and bone

holding some view of the world

in her wide-knuckled grasp.

i am, she says,

a well-wrapped box

of weeds and good intentions,

worn at the seams,

no card attached.

but she will never learn

the weight of her own gravity,

she will never see

the blue of the sky

if she never raises her eyes to it.



I admire the sheer, brutal honesty in this piece.  I didn’t ask for anything specific when I originally contacted Nicole Marie, she just did what she does.  I was taken aback, and thought it was a beautifully written, and really great piece of reflective poetry – all of it with a glimmer of hope at the end.  I’m glad to have had the opportunity to be a mediator.  Thanks for your contribution, NM.  \m/


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Words and Other Things


  1. Le Clown

    I left my snark in Canada, which means I only have good things to say… Should I say them nonetheless?
    A beautiful, and honest, piece.
    Le Clown

  2. calahan

    I can’t imagine how much added pressure a growing girl must be under to look a certain way. I’m just glad that you eventually got to the point where you finally said, “F*ck it. I’m me.” I like you being the poetic rockstar you are, Nicole. 🙂

  3. Pingback: Of Me – A Chowderhead Production | wordsandotherthings
  4. rheath40

    I’ve never been the normal looking one. I was the curvy girl. Still am. Still uncomfortable in a skin that I wish would change. I’m told I’m beautiful. That I look like Marilyn. But when I look at the woman in the mirror I see my ass dimpled with cellulite. The skin that jiggles. The thighs that are too big. I don’t look at the face of a woman that looks young and has nary a wrinkle at the age of 45. I don’t see the beautiful hands that hold a pen to paper and writes words to weave a story. I don’t see the woman with blue eyes that twinkle with delight at the punchline of a dirty joke because I am a man’s woman. No, I see flaws. Because of what society tells me I should look like. Because what men have told me I should look like. Because of what my own mother said I should look like.

    You are beautiful. But you don’t need to be told that. You need to feel it within yourself. Feel it and know it.

    Love, Renee

  5. Fat Bottom Girl

    This speaks to me as a woman. Even though I am 44 years old I am still not totally comfortable in my own skin, though much more so than I was in my twenties. If we as women were to be accepting of our bodies at an early age, oh what a true force to reckon with we would be!! If there is one thing I could wish for any child, it would be that they revel in those things that make them uniquely them; that they embrace and love themselves regardless of what shape their bodies take.

    Beautiful piece. Adam, you know how to pick ’em. 🙂

  6. Lisa

    I’d be surprised if a female existed who couldn’t relate to something in this, if not all. I’m sharing the link to this everywhere I can.

  7. Jen and Tonic

    Beautiful, and unfortunately, something that a lot of us can relate to.

    “And while each day is a struggle, I have managed to find small pockets of peace within myself.” I love that.

    • Nicole Marie

      Thank you, Jen! I know – I hate that people can relate, but I appreciate that they can relate, if that makes sense. I only hope I can bring some sort of sense of relief to those feeling this way.

  8. Pingback: Shattering the Mirror | Chowderhead
  9. SocietyRed

    Songs, stories, poetry. I can be transported and moved by these things. I know they are good when I lose myself in them and when I can’t stop thinking about them. I can’t stop thinking about this. I love the rhythm, the words and message. I love the hand-written version. This is beautiful work.

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