Turn, turn, turn the pages

of Seventeen, Allure, Elle.

Your hungry fingers keep

turning

turning

tur—stop.

 

Close the pages.

 

Let go of the expectations,

of the size double zero aspirations,

of the porcelain skin desires.

They are trying to squeeze the life out of you

like a waterlogged rag,

and wring your inner-light away.

They’ll toss your limp, skeletal body

into those size double zero jeans. 

They’re trying to cover your beautiful,

perfect skin with a mask of chemicals and grease.

They’ll make you insecure to take it off

in front of friends, loved ones.  

You’ll become that mask.

 

Don’t let them,

please don’t let them.

 

They all want a piece of you

to pull,

lift,

and pinch.

Shove their hands away,

far away.

And when they reach out again

slap their hands, bite, kick, scream

but whatever you do,

don’t let them.

 

For the love of yourself

and every woman struggling 

day after

day.

Please 

don’t let them.