Breaking the Mold
© Laura Craig Mason 2002

Infomercial's glare promises
Shakes, pills and water loss.
Glossy ads promote
selfless simple starvation
and a glamorous lack luster stare
In 10 easy payments
even I could gain way
to the American dream;
the collectively admired model.
Every way I look
there is a girl smaller than me;
younger than me,
doing it better than me.
Every bit of media
has me measuring her
body and soul;
everything I've heard
has turned me against her.

Too tired to eat
too worn down to dream
I was the ideal once.
Size 6 with big hips
and showing ribs.
I was the ideal once
hair bleached blonde
pining for name brand denim
and the latest shade of acceptance.

Too tired to eat
too tired to dream
I spent hours dancing
nearly meeting the Bolshoi dream.
nearly meeting parental approval.
Too tired to appreciate it
I fell down.
I gave up and shattered louder
than a thousand snow globes.

Stripping body of fat
stripping the mind of self worth
I've exposed more than my ribs
I over exposed my inner vision.
I nearly bleached out
What kept me unique.
Every way I look
there is a girl smaller than me;
younger than me;
quieter than me;
more well behaved than me,
and every bit of media
has turned me against her.

We used to be sisters
We used to have mothers.
Now we are fragmented
by age, size, and preferred designer.

I've set down the magazines.
I've turned off the sitcoms 
staring starving girls
and shrinking women.
I've wrapped myself in
my grandmother's knitted memory,
and turned to the girl 
to the woman next to me
to ask her name
her favorite author
and her views on
corporate sponsored self worth.