How?

Dear grown women,
I’ve heard you question
My red lips
Winged eyeliner
Three layers of foundation 

And the way I’ve tried to conceal my bare reality
You tell me that the only way I’ll be accepted is if I learn to accept myself.
I am nothing but sorry as I ache to ask you
How do you explain self-acceptance
To a generation taught beauty is pain
To a generation taught that the only way they’ll be considered beautiful
Is if they procure the unachievable perfection
Found on the front pages of magazines
How?

Dear grown men,
I’ve seen the way you look at me
The way you think I bid you to force yourselves upon me
By wearing shorts the length of what you consider ‘inviting’
I am nothing but sorry as I ache to ask you
How do you explain ‘appropriate’
To a generation taught that clothing
Is just another way of expressing?
What if I told you I feel naked?
What if I told you I pay heed to the way you try to x-ray
Your way to the insides of my clothing
What if I told you that this is me expressing myself
What now?
How?

Dear old generation,
I am nothing but sorry as I ache to ask you
How do you expect me to take the blame
For a trying to please a generation you raised?