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Stand tall,

shoulders back,

be a lady,

don’t fight back,

don’t sing the song sung a million times

by other women, most half your size,

that song sung for justice

that claims not to be needed

by the pretty girls,

rich and conceited.

They have it easy,

the world laughs,

they don’t have hardships that don’t pass.

Sure, they have issues, 

but who are they to be fighting back?

When their lives are so much better than the rest pack’s?

We hunt for food like wild animals, 

while they sit in their rooms and think the world is tangible.

Our society claims to crumble around them

while they just sit pretty and look thin.

But what if our society was wrong?

And those little girls had feelings?

That would change the way we saw things

and make us realize what we were doing;

putting the next generation of strong women down

doesn’t matter if their white or brown

Rich or poor,

they’ll always beg for more.

We raised them like that,

instead of raising them to fight back

like we should’ve done,

instead of holding them at the end of a gun.

Where they gonna run?

They know they can’t make it on their own.

Even if they like being left alone,

they know they can’t fend for themselves,

cause they’ve got sweat drippin’ from their bodies like they’ve been to hell.

So do tell, please tell,

what are they supposed to do when they’re running from hell? 

Will they look up to their parents and their wealth

the only people concerned with their mental health?

Or will they go unnoticed, lost in the pack

because nobody cares if their back.

No one noticed when they left,

and the world’s still just as cleft.