Their daughters bodies are governed by the words
that had edged their way into the impressionable ears
and eyes of the naive.

Lissome bodies of hollow women have ribcages shaped like
faces. Hollow and resenting countenance, yet beckoning to
those daughters who need somewhere to go.

Daughters who grew up believing that the first time they love someone
they must be prepared to give some of themselves up.
That in order to love, they must become less, become smaller.

Tonight she lays on the couch of a boy who won't kiss her goodnight
and she thinks that she may really love him, because love is sacrificing parts of yourself, and she's never felt as un-whole as she does now.

Another boy asks her to sleep in his bed, she is surprised by the question.
When he thanks her for spending the night, she will pretend she's asleep.
She will leave at 6am and walk away from the best she's ever been treated.

I stopped counting how many ribs I can see in the mirror because the face just seems empty, and my soul feels tiny. No one ever told their daughter the second rule to loving. You must be selfish or you will be left feeling small.