We girls, We young women, We daughters.

Young girls look into their mother’s eyes and ask why am I not pretty?

Why am I not pretty like those girls?

Why don’t I look like the girls, those women on TV and magazines

A little after that, the young girl reaches into her mother's purse to find a tube of hot, red, and soft to the touch lipstick.

She smears it all over her face and smiles at her now pretty self in the bathroom mirror

What’s wrong with this?

Young women are told to keep quiet, stop talking, stop it!

Young women don’t want to be told to keep quiet.

We rise,

Young women emerge from this pattern

We will not be set back

We will no longer watch from the sidelines

When will everyone be equals?

Daughters grow up as their mothers watch with sorrow filled eyes,

But the sorrowful eyes are not sad.

But are filled with immense joy and care.

We love,

Daughters look back at all the times her mother told her that she was pretty enough, mattered enough, and was loving enough.

She believes it.