They see her, petite and gorgeous,

They compare themselves to her small frame,

Wondering why they cannot look like her,

Petite and gorgeous.

They have wide hips that anchor their legs to their soft torsos,

They stand in the mirror late at night,

The reflection distorted by their own manipulative minds,

They turn to the side,

Tummies illuminated by the moonlight,

Force their tummies in with a large inhalation,

Their minds spin,

Why am I not petite and gorgeous?

Everyday they watch her waltz around the house,

Not a care in the world,

Why would she have a care in the world?

She is petite and gorgeous.

She has become the final goal,

Unattainable because of the differing genes,

But genetics never cross their minds,

Thoughts and actions dictated by their own insecurities.

Attempts of self preservation,

Push her down and use her as a ladder,

Their insecurities are hypnotists,

Whisper tainting ideas in their ears,

In a trance they follow the taunting voice that sounds so much like their own,

The taunting words sew their lips shut,

Don’t allow nutrients to enter the lips,

How could they?

Survival is not the number one priority.

Their stomach cry for something more as their empty hearts smother the sounds silent,

100, 200, 300, but never in the thousands,

They try to squeeze into her dress,

Robbed of their breath by the constant constraint of the fabric,

By the constant constraint of their desires,

They stand in the mirror late at night,

The reflection distorted by their own perceptions of themselves,

The light in their eyes fade away as their tummies disappear,

Ribs exposed,  

They turn to the side,

Tummies illuminated by the moonlight,

Force their tummies in with a large inhalation,

Their minds spin,

Why am I not petite and gorgeous?

They lash out,

Cry tears of hopelessness because they will never look like Cinderella.

After all, she will live happily ever after,

Petite and gorgeous.