you are the soothing hum
the grass stains on my jeans
the summer in my hair
the color in my cheeks
you are the the constant wave
beating against my heart
the warm honey on my lips
the paint on my nails
you are the perfect dance
and a moonlit ride
the sticky vanilla cream
you are the flower in my palm
the reason I smile
the chills down my spine
you are more than you'll ever know
you are the love of my life

Be happy alone (but be happier with a man).
Be sad, (but don't show it).
Be stupid, be smart, fall for all of our plots.
Be this! Be that! Be YOU!
(Be just unique enough that you are just like our other 1,000,000 readers).

Laugh a lot with your perfectly straight teeth.
(Don't let them see the stains from the acid that creeps).
Lose it, curb it, fight it, crunch it, boost it, control it.
**** him, tease him, **** him, blow his mind
(but don't be a ****, because nobody likes a stupid ****).

You're not wearing the right jeans,
You're not wearing the right shirt,
(But they'd probably look better if you followed these steps to lose 5 pounds in 5 days)
((and dyed and cut your hair))
(((and put your makeup on just right)))

love yourself (just enough to lose yourself,)
because then,
then you are on the path to improvement.
you are one step closer to that
(hand selected, perfectly manicured, potentially, possibly, probably starving)
model,
(who is still not quite good enough to make it without photoshop).

Because Kate Moss tells me,
“Nothing taste's as good as skinny feels,”
and maybe she's right.

Because this fat doesn't sit quite right,
it lumps and bumps. It muffin tops.
It's sloppy, I'm lazy, I eat too much
Maybe I should cut my carbs
and meat
(and everything in between)

Because my size 8 self is plus size to the ones that control my mind.
Because to be a plus is really a negative,
and to be a zero really means that I'm a ten.
Because to be skinny is to succeed.
And to succeed is to win.
And winning is all part of the system, right?

So, yes Cosmo, I'll pluck and shave.
I'll flirt and curl
I'll cut and count
I'll smile and cry
I'll **** and blow
I'll smoke my eyes and cover up my zits
I'll use my mirror to photoshop out every flaw that makes me beautiful
and maybe, maybe someday I'll be just as lifeless as the girls in your magazine.

I am the void left by hope.
I am the frantic scrabble,
the gasp f­or a mirage.
I am the empty box,
the joke with no punchline.
I am the end of the road.
 
I am the face you thoug­ht you knew,
the parcel for someone else.
the missing last page.
­I am the second, 
after the second,
that you knew it was over.   ­

I am the coup leader 
shot at dawn
I am redundancy
bankruptcy, ­lonely
I am the king
with blood on my arms
From the nails
 
I am ­the logo on the trainers 
on the heels 
of the one in front 
I am­ the vibrating molecules
Of the sound
Of the door closing
I am th­e dawning realisation
That you are not
as good as you thought you­ were.

I am disappointment.

I am the sun reflected
The gleam of­ polished brass
I am the lace of frost on leaves
I am the newborn­ laugh
The vibrant flowerbed
I am the happy child 
chasing the ra­inbow
of a bubble on the breeze

I am more than the sum
of the ga­ps between dreams
I am the strength
In the arms
That hold you
I a­m the other side
where mysteries are plain

I am the miracle 
the­ rank outsider,
the last to be picked,
who scored the winner,
I a­m fresh hope.
I am unwavering joy.
I am the rock.
 
I am.

And I ­choose you.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
the frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the maxome foe he sought-
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.
As in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came.
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack.
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"Has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Calloh! Callay!
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.