Are you sitting comfortably?
Then I'll begin...
Rip off the cellophane!
Unwrap the reams
of blank white paper
fresh with dreams
yet to be written.
Imbibe the smell
of the ink-jet stream
as the lines of type
crisp and clean
emerge in words
telling a tale
that beguiles, enthrals
- a foretaste of all
the escapades,
the clandestine missions,
the foiling of schemes,
the snaring of brigands
that you envision
in your future,
your very own
Girls Own Adventure.
But as your body swells
into rounded curves,
a changed narrative starts to stir.
You sell the film rights.
You're cast on the couch,
your languid form
now draped in a shroud
of vivid red satin -
you're scarlet with shame
as the story's re-written
for the male gaze.
Cut! Call the scriptwriters! Let's rework this ending.
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