I wasn't raised as a lady
with three brothers and a father to tie me down
and beat sense into my girlish mind.
But early illuminations
brought dark realizations-
as it seems a fool is favored.

Feathered eyelids and buttered cheeks
of these I knew nothing.
Clumsy drugstore purchases
to paint a face too young into beauty.
The type they want to look at.

Braces be gone!
Glasses, so long!
Sear these curls with an iron!
So there, cursed mirror of murmurs!  
The type they want to look at!

Nay!
He says that's not enough.
And who am I to stop his hand
spidering up my skirt.
This is it.
The type they want to touch.

Wash your face off
and all the scents and spots
of whoever he was.
Some are too deep,
it seems they have seeped.
The type they want to ****.

You'll ruin your sheets
if you cry like that-
motherless infant.
You cannot always need,
you'll be the type they want to leave.