The way they see her

The way their eyes scuttle up from her purple painted toes to the kinky curls upon her head

Fixating on the width of her hips

The rotundness of her belly

The cellulite in her thighs

The imperfections consume their thoughts

Consuming her with it

So much so that the imperfections become her

Damage her

 

They do not see her as a beauty

As one who can turn heads

All because of the size of her jeans

The two number digit, too big to be beautiful

 

Why can’t they see that she is?

Why can’t they see that they all are?

Fifty years ago this was the standard of beauty

But now beauty is a number less than 100

A number less than 2

A number that it unattainable

When did beauty become a numbers game?

 

Now little girls will grow up as brainwashed as I was

Thinking this is the only thing accepted as attractive

Focus only on the differences between themselves

And the ones they will never be

It shouldn’t have to be this way

This everlasting losing streak in a numbers game

They aren't the ones who need to change

 

I can’t watch them turn into who I’ve become

One who's tried time and time again to be

A number less than 100

A number less than 2

To hurt

To cry

To hate

I can’t watch that happen

It is too late for me

But for their sake

For the sake of the little girls everywhere, still untainted by the façade of modern beauty

Let them know they’re beautiful too