How can I ever tell you that
in the 21st century,
as innocent as you are,
you will be sexualized.

It started with
one peak under that skim cloth
that made you an icon
Halloween costumes
turned your baby face into
the mask of a "babe"

There are no more dogs
struggling to tear your short shorts
now only mutts scattering clubs
hands dangling onto your belt loops
as if they were in the middle of a hurricane

You, Coppertone Baby, didn't know any better
you were minding your own **** business
vacationing on the beach
when somebody had the audacity to snap a picture
of your ***.
Sweet little girl,
you are us.

You are society's expectations of innocent women
so easily willing to publicize our bodies
printed on billboards
sold in magazines
You put your hair up for vanity
but we tie our hair back to avoid
violent hands
You, Coppertone Baby
will never be known as Cheri,
just like today,
we are branded into the clothes made to hide our bodies
but couldn't do it enough
we are the voiceless

We are the shadows hiding behind anatomy
we are nip-slips
we are on the front cover
of ******* magazines
You grew up not expecting it
merely existing
only knowing the words,
"mommy and daddy."

Welcome, Coppertone Baby,
to the present, not so much a gift
where your first words are now,
"thank you"
the camera is constantly pointed
constantly asking you to sit pretty
you will learn to avoid beaches
and only buy the clothes
that suffocate your skin


I know you were meant to sell sunscreen
but how can I ever buy your product
if I can't even hardly
go outside.

If there is one thing I will always be grateful for,
It is how I was raised and who I am.
My mother taught me that there is no such thing as a *****,
And if I am called that by anyone not to give a ****.

My ****** expression and who I decide to let inside me,
Does not define who I am and my worth.
People may not like what I do and won’t always agree,
But my sexuality is as natural as grass growing in the earth.

And probably the biggest double standard ever,
Has to be the praise men receive when they’re laid.
They get called “badass” and “stud” when they pull off that endeavor,
But if women do the same they are met with lots of shade.

The saying it takes two to tango comes into play here,
Because if a man’s getting laid so is the woman.
So let’s get **** shaming to disappear,
Because after all we are only human.

My friends always tell me I say no too often
to the boys who want me only for my body.
They say I don't know how to have fun.
But I remember all the boys before them
who called me beautiful when they grabbed my ****
but got furious and labelled me a ***** when I
took their hands off and rejected their advances.
I recall the boys who stared shamelessly at my *******
but called me a **** and all the adults
who told me it was my own fault for being promiscuous.
I think back
On all the times boys asked me
whether or not I was a ******,
as if they had the right to know.
On the numerous occasions a guy I didn't know
asked me to **** his ****,
as if that is the only thing I'm good for.
On every time boys called me
    
          a *****
                       a ****
                                 a *****
                                               or a ***** ******.

And when I do so I'm absolutely sure I want no part
of the fun my friends keep going on about.

Look in the mirror
What do you see?

Imperfection
As you reach left for
The tan crumbs to cover your uneven skin
And reaching right for
The black
Toxic
Goo
To give the impression that your stubby eyelashes
Aren't incapable of growing

You step back and look at yourself once more
Its not enough

You rummage for the crayon to
Smear across your eyelids
In hopes that it will make your
Dull
Brown eyes
Pop

Your face feels pounds heavier
Yet, are you really done so soon?
Aren't you forgetting something

You dig deep into the drawer
To find a
Burning
Red paint to drown your thin pale lips in
Longing for the look of that
Photoshopped
Supermodel you saw in that magazine

You come downstairs
Dad says you look like a clown
Mom says you're still a kid
Society says its not enough

What do you say

When I walk into a clothing store, i'm told I am a medium size
When I walk into a boutique, I am told I am fair, and sensitive skinned
When I walk into the salon, I'm told my hair needs a little extra strength

When I look in the mirror at my bare body, the beauty felt inside of me does not harmonize with my outside.
If books could talk, they would say the same.
Paperback, hardback, French fold, perfect bound, saddle stitch, case wrap, dust jacket.
I know because i've asked them.
They'd say; "I didn't come here to write my heart out, I came here to write it in",

I stand naked in the bathroom, counting the tiles on my body until the plug is blocked with everything I wish I could wash away.
My pores may be open, darling, but they are as wide as the valves in my tenacious heart, because they're breathing.
I can only apologise, the porcelian cracked as his blimp of a hand grabbed my impressionable face and told me no one would ever love me like he did, and how beautiful I looked when I cried.
My medium, tired hips will bare a child one day, and her medium, ripened hips will do the same.
I was poor the last time someone stole my heart, I haven't flown enough to lose all of my baggage yet, my insurance never covered those losses, but I won't pander to your altitude, because I am as worthy of love as any other woman.
I can fall into another's arms in a million pieces and still be seen as whole, after all, the universe only became the universe when it shattered into dust.
I wonder if i've spent most of my life as a welcome mat, and I often wonder how muddy my own feet are.
Sisterhood is far from suffrage.
My heart feels like a Macaw in a canary cage,
I can feel her words needling between my shoulder blades as she whispers of my failed marriage and how she heard he now lies with a younger model.
And now, I lay alone.
I'm wading through molasses,
Social events these days require the brace position, your words are electrical sockets and I am seventy percent water.
I line up sugar packets across the table like trenches as you become increasingly bitter with every sip of your black coffee.
My ribcage became monkey bars for your every word to hang on to for a second there, but your sound became muffled as I dreamt of a world where women sang together.
To the moon, to the stars, to mother earth, to each other, creating a united galaxy of warrior women equipped with hardened feet, joined at their callouses, but with honied hearts that would melt through their sisters fingers.
I dreamt of a world where women tell each other they are beautiful every day, due to one single feature we all obtain. Spirit.
I dreamt of a world where our medium waist bands meet the tips of our  brittle, fair hair and our sensitive skin is more than enough to touch the souls of every female ghost that ever felt lost in this world our gentle mother made.
Calling all warriors, there's a boat named Serenity leaving the shore in five minutes,
I hope to God they brought enough life rafts for us all on this ship.

I start chatting to my aunt
at a lively family do
she wants to know how I’m doing
since it’s been a year or two.

Actually, I’ve never felt healthier
or fuller of zest,
at this year’s marathon
I slashed my personal best.

Yes, she says patiently
But other than that?
Anything new in your life?
Now we have time to chat.

Well, my career is going well,
You could say I’m on a high
I’ve finished my PhD
won a coveted prize.

Oh yes? She replies
but it doesn’t impress
looks at me expectantly,
for what I can’t guess.

I tell her about my wonderful friends
how I really love my city
as there’s something happening every night
and the surroundings are so pretty.

And what about you, aunt?
Oh yes fine, fine
we’ll talk about me later,
we have plenty of time.

So I recount my recent travels
to far off distant places
how I heard amazing stories
saw unforgettable faces.

You know, aunt, life has never been better
I appreciate how lucky I am.
Of course you do, she quickly agrees
but have you found yourself a man?

No, I’m still single, I say.
Oh. Well, never mind, she sighs.
Things will pick for you
Pats my arm, sympathetic eyes.

Then she’s off to another relative
and I hear her loudly relate
how sorry she feels for me
and the sadness of my singular fate.