Soulless of eye, and with cavernous cheeks,
down catwalk, flash-lit, totters starved-death-in-heels,
while, backstage, the well-nourished 'guru' awaits
the applause of the foolish,and guiltless he feels.

As she stares from a photo, with 'heroin' gaze,
she knows not of the innocent hearts that are touched,
by the grip of self-doubt and bulimia rage,
that wreak havoc in mind and rupture self-love.

To hold up, as 'model' for others, a waif
whose structure is natural to only a few,
is triumph in lies and denial of truth
of the endless variety we are heir to.

As long as in heart, health and happiness reign,
a woman should be as she is and no more,
for skeleton dreams are for misguided brains,
and from such disjuncture, is misery born.