Dear Advertisers (A poem)

January 19, 2014 3:17 pm

Dear Advertisers,
I do not need to be told what is wrong with me
I do not need to know that I am
Fat, flat-chested, ugly, or unfashionable
None of the products you can sell me
Will erase the fact that I was painfully aware of all these things
By the time I reached senior school 3048554599_7f6d90c2b8_o
As was every other young child there
And because of these failings in perfection,
We picked on each other in order to feel better
The lack that T.V. made us aware of
Drove our budget-driven parents insane
Attempting to both keep up with trend
And create smaller versions of good human beings
Now we are grown
And the abuse hasn’t stopped
My ambitious young mind should be put to good use
Whether finding cures for rife diseases
Or merely finding my corner of the social spectrum
I can do without you ramming your stereotypes
Down my society-weary throat
You have claimed so many already
Girls of nine in foundation and thongs
Boys whose trainers cost more than school fees
Teenagers galore with tablets and iPhones
Identical women walk side by side to their matching cars
Copies of magazines that say nothing on their passenger seat
Merely provide them with the image of a proclaimed ideal
Stuck up on posters in the local gym
Of a man whose stomach muscles
Are far more defined than his mind
Fear for my younger sisters dogs me
Every time I turn on the television
Fear for my future children plagues me
If this is the status quo at this time
In twenty years time, will my daughter4933853027_9c25308985_o (1)
Stand in front of me, a parody of what someone else
Has told her she ought to be
Unrecognizable and blissfully unaware
While she is objectified and judged on nothing else
Than what some mysterious unnamed third party
Claims to be true beauty
Will I be so disgusting to my husband then
That he trades me in for a woman whose body
Has been so nipped and tucked and ‘done’
That she barely owns the skin she wears
Will my young impressionable son
Sell a kidney and most of his dignity
So he can buy that particular car
That will ensure that he himself is complete
When I pass away, will I be judged
By those who come to clear out my belongings,
And have them take pity on my poor ghost
Because it seems I own so little?
How do I teach my family
After everything you present to them
Their treacherous teacher who has been bribed
Not to believe everything they hear
That you present what someone we don’t know
Wants us to think, and believe, and buy into
How do I heal myself from stress and anxiety
This new disease that you helped spread
Because now we are not allowed to judge ourselves
We are judged based on societal norms
That nobody has but you have instilled
So take yourself off my Facebook timelineBuy More Stuff, Black Friday 2009
I’m not gonna like your page
Tell my sisters that they are pretty
And will be as long as they believe it
Tell my grandmother, my mother and me
That we are beautiful because we own our age
Tell my husband that he could be twice the size he is
He will still do it for me
And tell the children of the future
That they must be on their guard from birth
My generation had you from the cradle
But we cannot allow you to create our reality
Any more than a stranger would
Don’t tell me what I do not have
I am too grateful for all that I do.

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