Girls, they’re beautiful. The ones that shine on our favorite magazines,

And are on the front page to show what beauty really means.

They seem so flawless, so slim, and their skin Sunkist

but even the most desirable woman could never check everything off the checklist.

Big butt, big boobs, skinny waist, pretty face.

Hairless, careless, still have no whereness and THAT is the truth about being a girl.

When we’re at school we’re told to keep our head down and only speak when spoken to. They say cover your shoulders, you're distracting people but the real question is who?

It’s 90 degrees and boys can go shirtless,

But when a girl where’s a skirt outdoors then she’s asking for it.

Why are we asked from such a young age,

What boys we find cute but didn’t you just slam my desk and say,

“Look young prepubescent girl

Cross your legs or the boy's thoughts will be in a whirl.

I know you’re too young to know why there’s a difference between girls and boys

But I don’t want you to grow up and not be used as a toy”.

As we get older schools brag about how good they are about dealing with rape

But as cases pile up they’re still more worried that Cassy has a vape.

They give us sappy excuses about how it’s all about what we were wearing

And they try to use that as an excuse for really just not caring.

If lesbians can control themselves in locker rooms that are enclosed

Then men should be expected to control themselves when I’m fully clothed.

*buzz* *buzz*

I woke up to a call. A caller who had called many times before. She would call to offer to get dinner, or sometimes just to say ‘hello’. But tonight, the call was frantic. It had been dialed quickly. She was out of breath.

“It was an accident.” She said when I arrived.

Her apartment reeked of bleach and blood, and I didn’t know what to say. She had been my best friend. But now lying on her kitchen floor was her boyfriend bleeding out from the head.

Why had she called me? What help could I be?