I look into the mirror.

What have I done?

Swayed by subtle persuasions
Of my founding fathers;
I've allowed them to shape me
Into some distorted replica
Of everyone else.

I am an American girl.

A mirror image
Of the ideal human being
Blankly returns my gaze.

I am an American girl.

I am growing her long hair,
I am painting her face,
I am grinning her shiny-peach-juice smile.

"Lovely, lovely, lovely," I whisper.

I am an American girl.

Nothing but a confined chameleon,
Resting on a tree branch constructed of
Magazines,
9-o-clock television,
And reality shows.

I know reality,
Or at least I used to.

I am an American girl
Longing to wake
From the American dream.