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.