Line up.
Line em up.

Girls all with their pretty peacock feathers.
How pretty can I look?
More than this?
Can I obliterate every fucking imperfection from myself?

So I’m good enough?

Bags under eyes.
Curves at hips.
Restless hair.
Thunder thighs that roar.

And not just that.

No seriously.
Not just that.

How can I ADEQUATELY meet your needs?
Want me to wear heels?
Don’t like my earrings?
Should I change?
For you?

Am I good enough.

We ask ourselves again and again and again.

In everything we do.

With every strand of hair kept in place.
Every diamond earring that says, “I’m So Appropriate For This”.
Every fake smile.
Every chunni pinned to perfection and every tummy sucked in with Spanx so we can breathe a little less and feel like the boys will love us now that they can’t see our tummies.

We think that is what it takes.
To meet the quota.

A room full of girls.
Who never made daddy proud.
Who never made mummy proud.
Who never made the bloody aunties proud.
Enough.

When are we going to change this?
When are you going to wake up?

This one is on us.

Wear what you want.

Walk how you want.

Love who you are.

And bloody hell, have that tequila if you want.

Be a bad girl.

Be a good girl.

Be a naughty girl.

Be a sassy one.

Be the one that makes too much money.

Or be the one who spends a lot of money.

Who cares.

Just be you sweetheart.

Just be you.

 

Xx

K