The girl begins to unfold like a snake
unfurling itself from it's resting place.
The arch of her foot, the ringlety hair,
the smooth skin that's yet to be shed.
She emits her stellar energies now.
Her unconscious is blissfully sleeping.
Then they start to tout, with their sales.
Girls on the front of magazines, exposed.
The innocents look on in suspicion.
Is this what beautiful looks like?
I tell her no; it's the sacredness of eyes
that spirited sparkle when conscious.
One day it will be the softness of thighs,
the roll of your breasts and stomach.
Even so, we are all polluted by synthetic
women who look like replicas of ideals.
When we women in the know have
a power that can align with the universe.
So my child, never think that you are