The Man

The man tells us the winner of life

With his so called wit and knowledge of beauty

Only to haunt little girls and boys

Even the grown feel the breath of the man down their necks

Whispering in all of their ears as they stare into a mirror

Thirteen years old

Dark Brown eyes and skin

Hair that goes on for miles and is black as night

Her body is fragile like a feather

The man whispers to her

“Don’t eat, you’re not small enough. Look at those hips. Your hair is untamed, let’s cut it. You could be better than this.”

Meals skipped as her body is being ripped apart within her

Her rib cage is peering from her sides

No one can even recognize this once lively, vigorous girl

Twenty years old

Hair as bright as the sun

His freckles are for each of God’s blessings

Eyes as blue-green as the ocean

The man says to him “We can play connect the dots with your freckles, or you can have them removed.  Your hair is blinding, color it. Your eyes are too discolored, get contacts.”

After all of his changes, he takes a final look in the mirror

He can only fall to the floor and weep

It’s not him

All for greed

No consideration

The man causes more harm than good

Depression, sickness, anger

Pain and even suffering

And he’s just a magazine