At sixteen I used to dream of happily ever after.
Not any old happiness, but the exact same cut and stick
pile of shit we’re fed from infancy. Girls,
play with baby dolls. Kitchens. Play at being a princess
and your sole intention is to marry a Prince.
What about mud, cars, computers, creativity,
finding your equal and not someone to rescue you.
We put too much pressure on children to be
someone else’s idea of perfect. Why not wait and see.
Little girls full to the brim with images of the
“perfect woman.” When really it’s just one type of beautiful.
A difficult to reach one at that, daughters,
please weigh up the time and pain it takes
with the enjoyment you get from eating the last slice.
There are so many ways to be beautiful,
the only judge you answer to is yourself.
Your body is yours to live in, to decorate or
change however you want.
A princess can find strength in her own existence,
if we keep our own ideas from weighing him or her down.
Let them be their own me.

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