The Sticks and Stones turned her to Bones

I wish I could say I was that selfless,

When presented with the ability,

To erase the sufferings of those across the globe whom I’ve never met

Or to heal those souls in the streets that I tend not to drive on.

But with the exception of maybe a few,

The other 7 billion of us

Can only see our world and those who inhabit it

Through our own personal lens

(Actually two)

And when I look through my dark brown lenses

The thing that I crave to change seems petty

Rather insignificant

And trivial to all those who have never felt

The pressure to be a certain size.

However, to me,

And to so many of the people that I love

This pressure is so constricting and consuming

That it’s engulfing our minds as well as our bodies

And it only grows tighter

With every magazine cover and advertisement

Of bodies that should be put into Saturday morning cartoons

Rather than into the impressionable minds of the youth

Who perceive it to be of the same make as their school pictures .

The lacerations that they’re causing

are cutting so deep

that I fear they are becoming irreversible.

Nevertheless,

I yearn for a world in which

I can go out to dinner and not have to feel ashamed when

Unlike all the girls at my table

I don’t order a salad.

For a world in which my own mother

Wouldn’t ask me in a condescending tone

If I was sure I wanted to have that second helping

Seeing how much I’d eaten already

But more than anything

I desperately want to live in a world

Where I don’t have to look into the sunken, skeletal eyes of my best friend

Who learned the hard way

That those fashion magazines

Cost a lot more than a few dollars.