Stormy PoeticJustice

If I were beautiful like you,

they would hang on my every word –

repeating my pop-culture phrases

like some mind-numbing mantra.

They would wear what I wore

(whatever the current MTV VJ

or bubble gum pop star deems cool)

no matter how absurd we all look,

dressed like clowns.

You cover us all like a virus –

infecting unwary girls and women

who are supposed to know better.

I wish I had the strength to say,

“I hate you and your waif-child image

that’s plastered on every third page

of otherwise decent magazines!”

Instead                 I am one of them –

the mindless lemmings that jump

just because the one before it jumped.

I starve myself and my body

feasts on itself for nourishment.

I vomit and silently pray

that no one can hear my retching.

I exercise until I fall exhausted,

crying out in pain that’s

more emotional than physical.

And all the while I am fully aware

that no matter what I do to myself,

I’ll never be

beautiful              like you.