I sit watching TV
feeling perfectly adequate
until the ads point out
my hair is too frizzy,
my legs are too short,
and I need to start shaping up for summer.
My sister is in grade school.
She can’t even spell “Victoria”
but she can’t wait
for the day she needs a bra
because she can’t wait
to be a play thing rather than a person.
Hi Emily, I really thought this was a great poem. I would drop the last four words in the last line, ending the poem with "plaything." I like your poetry. dw
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