07.03.05

8:52 p.m.

M I S T E R M E D I A

M I S T E R M E D I A
~Sarah Mason


Mister "media"

Mister "exploit my body"

Mister "low carb, low weight, low self-esteem" media

Mister "rape my belly"

Mister "thigh and hip genocider"

Mister "tits and ass, and 12 year old leg dispenser"

Mr. Media

Sir. ahem,

most prestigious profiter of my self worth

the one you sold to me,

in my pink crib at birth!

Sir.

How is it you sleep at night?

while I eat the stars and

Fast on the moon?

Doing sit ups for you

on my

Cold Tile

Floor.

or standing in the bathroom

with my shirt up

wanting my womb and child bearing hips

dead dead

and dead!

You sir,

live between the glossy pages of my

2 dollar and nineteen cent propaganda

a million magazines singing

anorexia's national anthem

rows and rows lining my supermarket

You live in a castle made of cable

computer wirings and satellite dishes

television sets and

you're a cross between Kate Moss and Keneth Lay.

Mr. "Sell! Sell! Sell!"

tragedy, vulnerability, sullen stares

teaching baby girls bruises and sickness is pretty

while you look anything but sullen

Fucking beaming as you make love to your dollar while I...

while I make love to that ad you sold me

while I make hate with myself

while I make myself sick over some toilet,

or empty because it feels good

while I make love to that addiction.


You see,

we're all getting off, I guess.

It's just that my climax could kill

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