What They Tell Us

They tell us that we become women
when we learn the pain of menstruation,
never teaching about the beauty of our bodies.

They comment on our eyes and our thighs,
we soon understand that it's not a compliment;
making sure we know that our physical characteristics
are always being judged, always the first factor.

They say it's inevitable, that we will find a boyfriend,
but plan to punish us when we do.
If we refuse or dare insult the opposite sex,
we get made fun of and at times
flames of something far scarier hide behind the laughter.

They tell us to give men a chance
but also warn against contact,
using our fear as bait
to guide the preachings against sin
deep into our subconscious
so that we can't close our eyes
without being horrified at who we find
staring back.

They remind us every day that
our bodies will never be good enough
then, are surprised to discover that we hate ourselves.

They tell us what "real women" look like
but somehow do not understand
why we cry when we don't fit the bill.

We are not vain,
we are tearing out stitches from years of self-depreciation
that once bound us up, tight, and held us back,
only now learning about our own bodies.

We are taking a stand
with raised voices and raised signs
with self-love and paintbrushes
hoping to keep younger generations
from knowing our pain.

They try to tell us who we are to be,
To that, we say, "No more."