They tell you when to

Get up, drag your scrawny half-starved limbs from the mattress.

you're allowed a four hour recharging period between onslaughts of learning.

They tell you how to

Wear your makeup, define you by the thickness of your eyeliner, the coats of mascara you apply, gaping like a fish



They've got you hooked, dangling over sugar-free, fat-free, zero-calorie




Tastes disgusting, revolting—

Please pass the porcelain? I'm almost to my goal weight.







They tell you what to

Wriggle your body into. Be sexy but modest, be intrepid but blend in

Because you're

just

not

exceptional enough

to stand out.



The Mohawk was only cool the first time.




They tell you who to

Love—who should make your cheeks flare, glut oxygen

and something close to happiness,

who to smear your emotions all over, ketchup slopped on new jeans.



And They tell you

exactly

WHAT to

feel.



Cover-up won't conceal the crimson around your eyes so

Strip down to your bones Miss PrettyPerfectpants, the boys like it.


What you don't quite comprehend

Is that self-hatred doesn't fit anyone right.



See how it tweaks your mouth, carves lines between your eyes?



I guess that's alright, just Botox it when you're done

Lacing tape measures through your ribcage.

Down to 19 inches? Oh my gosh, I'm so jealous.


That bag of sand should keep the wind from tossing you skyward again.