Maybe we should sympathize
with the tiny waisted girls
that cake their face with a layer of colorful protection
that wear jeans tighter than the sealed bottle of meds
they take to stay skinny.

They cheat their way to the idea of beauty its true.
Pills to take away the fat,
painting their face to attract the opposite ***.
Cloths that might as well be a thinner second layer of skin.

Its disgusting, what we consider beautiful
It's sad that girls aspire to achieve it.
Its sad that some do.

I envy maybe, their happiness, but
what if its not real?
What if secretly they feel as we do
the "average" crowd they are "forced" to coexist with

I do wonder, but then and ice cold snarl
from perfect straight white teeth hits me in the face
burns my retina and forces me give an equally evil shot from my
painfully normal features.

And I am reminded of the god awful truth.
They do not wonder what we think,
as if we were a separate species,
they look more alien than we.

God made man in his image
and I'm almost positive
he didn't look like plastic.

They desire to look like the air brushed figures seen in magazines
Something only wishes can achieve.
Something only paper thin models on paper can look like.
Something only a computer can achieve.

Its sad.
I do not envy them.

I see the soft, charming ringlets bounce up, down, and around
As my little cousin opens her gift.
I hear the tinkling sound of her excited voice,
but feel sick to my stomach when she tells Mommy and Daddy what it is.
She squeals "Barbie!"
And I want to scoop her up and run,
Far, far, away from the little plastic doll,
On, on, onward toward a safe view of beauty.

Her ignorance is bliss, but I know better,
And I pray with a heavy heart
For that beautiful, creative mind underneath the ringlets.
I desperately ask some higher power
How we can protect her from that little doll.
What were you thinking,
I want to yell at the grown ups.
Didn't you learn from us?

Don't you know that Barbie cut open our hearts and sewed in her plastic ideal
Before they had beaten long enough for us to walk?
That she shoved sharp words in our head
Before we could string together full sentences?
That we never stood a chance,
From the moment we tore open the shiny paper
Dotted with cartoon Christmas trees?
That the "must-have" gift for a little girl
Would enslave our bodies and minds to a "must-have" torture for the rest of our lives,
And teach our brothers and classmates to look for the woman
With not enough calories in her body to sustain a simple memory,
With not enough room in her waist to hold a kidney?

Maybe it's not all your fault, you grown-ups.
Maybe you've been chained to the unattainable images for so long
That you've forgotten the shackles were even there.
But does that not scare you?
Maybe you'll remember the strain
When you see a beautiful young woman's scars,
When you hear a breaking voice speak about her friend's final breaths
At her own fragile hands filled with little pills.

But most of all, I pray to God that you won't have to remember too late,
I hope you don't have to remember when you're chained to her hospital bed
Because the insufficiency you gifted her in a shiny plastic box
Started a cycle of sinister self-hate and destructive delusion
That she cannot outrun.
I won't let you forget, because you cannot remember that way.
I won't let you forget, because she can't end up that way, like we did.
You think you gave her a pretty little toy in a shiny little package.
Didn't you learn from us?
You gave her Pandora's box.

You look at me funny,
When I replace the impossibly-sized plastic "woman" in her hands
With a toddler-sized plastic piano.
You may not remember, but I always will,
And I will dedicate my life to making sure
These beautiful ringlets will never have to.