A Real Woman

There I stand, in the midst of
lovers and friends – 
Jeering, gesturing, lecturing
Matter-of-factly, sadly explaining
That I will never be

A Real Woman.

Bright images glare
Of impossible thinness, 
Wasted cheeks
Glow with wanton deprivation.
I pinch, I jab, I shear it away
and perhaps, finally find

A Real Woman.

All pride forgotten, my heart
Staked to the ground,
I vainly hope as they squeeze and tease
My hair, my breasts,
my waist, my heart
into the perfectly-sized bundle of

A Real Woman.


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