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
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
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,
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.