Tell me why, small vulnerable miss,
why do you want to grow?
Why do you want to showcase,
that tiny pair of boobs of yours.
Tell me little miss, is this really what you want?
Do you pray each night for your mother
to buy you heels,
and waste each birthday wish in order to
speed up slow slow time?
Tell me miss, is the number 16 oh so sweet?
Do you wish your mother would give you
lipstick for your birthday?
Do you wish you were skinnier?
Tell me little miss, do you want to look like barbie?
Do you look up to her? Is she who you want to be?
Do you want to be this anorexic doll that breaks
within a stomp of the foot? A frozen doll which expresses
no intellect what so ever?
Tell me little miss,
Do you really want to grow?
Do you not wish that you'd,
grow a bit slower?
Tell me miss, don't you feel as though time's ticking
too fast and that really -- you'd wish you'd bloom a bit slower.

Don't you miss -- when you were 10 years old?
Little miss.

- a poem by yours truely.

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