Magazine Mirror

Your eyes scream at me, through the magazine.

Are you happy?

Do you think I cannot see the photo shopping of your human traits?

People are picking and choosing what is the best side of you to sell to the world

and you sit there, smile, and pose for the camera,

yet your eyes tell me a very different story.


You were called dumb and you were called a slut;

but they also called you beautiful and pretty.

The combination of those four words left you

confused as any other human being would be

when they are shot down for lack of intelligence

and brought up on the fascination of material beauty.


I stare, stare, stare, and cannot shake the knowledge

that you honestly believe

the one thing you can offer this world is a pretty face.

Men on street corners wolf whistle

you taunt them with a wink and a smile

but inside you are screaming; 

because for a reason you do not understand

you are not satisfied with the absurdity of human lust.


At a young age, you watched your mother put on make-up

to hide the fantastic human wonder that lay underneath

There could only be one head of the household.


When you were ten, 

You saw other little girls get picked on

They wore pants instead of dresses

You saw hair pulled and rumors passed

Everyone becoming the target of cruel gossip.


The passage of time,

Nothing to lighten

the load of the female burden.


As you grew so did the little boys. 

Boys that watched their mothers




do everything

for everyone

They never seemed to know the word NO.


Dignified by their gender

spoiled with the concept of supremacy

They expect that you’ll give them exactly what they want.

Every time. Everywhere. Everything.


They, with the help of media

that has been sending you mixed messages since you were old enough to understand,

you were just meant to be what a boy’s parents feared, 

a distraction of physical stamina.


Not really a proper woman.


I wonder if you remember what-

It was so long ago-

Our teacher told you? 


“You have so much potential. 

Do not let it go to waste.”


I can still see it processing

behind your eyes even from here.  

Even from the other side of the newspaper stand

Visible in every single woman walking down the street

who had to decide at one point in time

whether or not she was worthy of the title “Female”

It held a standard that no real FEMALE could hold.


Mother, daughter, sister, worker, maid, cook, sexy, hot, fine, beautiful, stunning, elegant, pretty, voluptuous, attractive, petite, charming, alluring, gorgeous and fashionable.

And let us not forget the two greatest of these.

Forgiving and Apologetic.

Probably the greatest words in the English dictionary

Women use them over and over again

A last ditch attempt to keep scum around.

 “I forgive you.” “I’m sorry.”


How many times have you had to say it?

Your face says never, 

Your eyes betray you.


You have been sorry

been forgiving

before those words actually came out

of your alluring, petite, attractive, lips.


You have been apologizing for the women who tried to build you up.

You have been forgiving a gender

for their constant slaughter of the feminine.


This magazine mirror just eats at my face

It morphs to look like yours.

Until there really is only

A virtual image of the essence of female sexuality,


and worth.


You sit there

and I imagine those are all the things that you would tell me

if I could actually ask you. 

But I suppose I need only to ask myself.


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