You call me beautiful,
but the only beauty you see is
the dip of a neckline,
the shade of a lipstick,
the length of a skirt.
Please, tell me I'm not
skinny enough, my hips are
too wide;
go on about how my hair needs
to be longer and my waist smaller,
my heels higher and my voice softer.
Say my skin isn't clear enough, my nails
are too short.
I am a material thing,
dressed up
like a doll, a Barbie.
I am not a woman, but
your plaything.
You want me to talk less and listen more,
when all I want to do is scream.