She isn’t an example they use on a daily basis only because she won’t change the way she works.
She won’t bend to break to form the physical status they all say where and how she belongs.
She stands high and stoic in her mind and always on the outside, but [her heart] the thing they boast of is weak though pleasing.
She fears she hides she buries; she won’t cry out her need her unfulfilled expectation to be heard without her strength; her belief.
But she does say to herself in the mirror how beautiful she is, stick thin and willowy winsome
She lies to her reflection she doesn’t feel the weight of their views on her frail no stout! shoulders.
I have no sympathy for her for she chose her mirror
Tis not a lake nor window but the people’s eye with their thick lashes blinding them from their words
From their ancestors before them with thin lashes like she until they were scarred they were beaten down and their lashes thickened as each pain was increasingly rationed; their lashes thickened to stow away their poisoned irises flooded by shadows
Enlisted to pour their woes into a new soul.
I have no affection for her failure
for my own reflection is from a lake a window a lense in the device
Everyone messes with too often bent against my will being with the hopes of escape
Cursed by a virus that spreads through our minds from our own possession.
I have no sympathy for her dreary adherer
Cannot spare myself the luxury of feeling
For others any longer for I am she
Who is stick thin and willowy winsome
Who has thin lashes not yet shields to guard and blister over the hurt and lies that
The world binds into taut ropes to tie me down.
I am she with no reflection; none to tell me supportive white lies-
for I hate them
no lie is white nor black nor grey
like people
We are each our own
-not one from my soul to bring light or dark to my situation in society,
Look how young she-
Look how small she-
Not one to support me in and after my failure with a glimmer nor shine in the eye of encouragement.
I am grey, stuck between the choice white or black, the choice I wish I could make despite
the common belief that sitting on the picket fence is easy; it’s not!
And I can’t.
She is grey, she is small
I am she

aren’t we all?