The grimmest girl sets a hand on her head


    To keep steady as she works through it all,


    Sell every hour for a check ‘til you’re dead,


    Give it up so you can live within walls.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Gender and sex and expression and more,


    Fashion and access and tricks of the trade,


    Change how you feel until everything’s sore,


    Someone said that’s how a woman is made.


    Too poor to be chic, too mean to be cute,


    And she’s the scowling, unsatisfied type.


    Body by retail has made her a brute,


    So what the hell can she do, except gripe?


    The wind blows a hollow note through her purse,


    And she thinks- if it’s this bad, I’ll be worse.