Pretty Girl Syndrome

There’s really no pretty way to dress this up

So I’ll not waste my time…

This is for those of you leading insignificant lives

Those who’ve never questioned

What it really means to be alive

But mainly,

Its this group of you that comes to mind:

Bred out of idealistic alignments

And born into ideal circumstances

Like demigods, waiting only for their mortal death

This day to be shrouded in pink flowers

And that glowing white dress

Pretty

Like the picture in her head

Surrounded by plastic modelesque figurines

Whose identities have long since been dead

An entire race among us

Dreaming upon that perfect day

Having been completely conditioned

A mind, a heart, a soul

With absolutely nothing to say

This image, the master

And anything outside of it, she rejects

Learning all the ways to properly respond

This idea of perfection she must project

These perfect nuclear family lives

Wrapped in gossip, joint functions and soaps

No reason to ever step out or step up

Engulfed

And any man whose ever come close to her skin

Has found it more than enough

To have simply been deemed worthy of this sin

And for her to emotionally participate

Is more than her mind needs to fathom

In this vile and primal act

Never knowing what it feels like to get their hands dirty

No man has ever called her out on her lack of ability to please

Because they feel simply lucky enough for a piece

And she’s never thought to please

Simply because she’s ‘pretty’

Chased by the boys most of her days

The mind and the flesh frail and weak

For never having moved a muscle

Always handed anything desired

Before given the chance to outwardly seek

ⓒ 2007 Shawn Michael Quinn