You started with bows in your hair,
holding momma’s hand,
long dresses at your ankles
with stains of mud and grass.
You climbed trees with your girlfriends
and said “no boys aloud.”
You smashed dandelions to your face
like the blush momma wears
and caught grasshoppers and worms
after a cool rain.
You started with your hands open,
reaching out to your best friends.
You watched the television commercials
with their women and men and sex
and wanted to buy their shampoo.
You saw the music videos
with the naked hips that sway
and wanted to learn to dance.
You saw the glorified thigh gap
or read somewhere that “real women have curves”
and cried in front of the mirror.
You climbed down your tree fort
for some romeo below
who stared up your skirt.