Urban Inanimism

Time and again I have succeeded in the vendetta of making all the women of the world to want to be just like me.

I am glamorous, beautiful and with assets that can make any woman have difficulty in walking if she happens to acquire part or all of it.

I am a staple in every little girl’s playroom. Yes, I start them out young, molding in their sponge-like minds the image of what a beautiful woman should look like, of how they should look like when they grow up so that they will gain popularity, have their own Kens, drive their own cars and live in their life-size dollhouses.

I don’t want variety! Behind this plastered smile and shapely legs I want dominion over every single body type. It is high time to celebrate just voluptous frames which are epitomes of symmetry and curvaceousness.

Exclusivity yields status, even in just the mind of a shallow few. I got lucky to have found too many shallow people and became a part of the movers and shakers of every little girl’s self-esteem. Let me just mention the fact that every woman has passed girlhood and none of them are immune from my power.

And I have succeeded. At the outset I stirred every little girl’s dream of princess play in the world of dreams where money comes easy and glamour is within reach and where chores and hard work don’t exist.
I succeeded. Those lesser mortals with small bosoms and shapeless waists have not outgrown their love for me and ended up frustrating themselves and devoting their entire lives to want to look just like me.

The drive which propelled  surgical cosmetology, gyms, slimming pills and bust-enhancing techniques to reach lofty heights in generating income.

The result? I have yielded a mass of broken dreams directly proportional to their waistlines.
True, there are the enlightened few who don’t buy my vision. They are the ones comfortable in their own shape, and reveling in their existence amidst this society which took my standard to be a subliminal barometer of what “sexy” and “beautiful” should look like.

These are the wise lot gifted with enough insight to just buy my ideology. I don’t have as much brain to admire them. But I maintain that they are still the minority, and the majority of skindeep beauty remains to rule the norm.

Also, there are some I failed to brainwash in their girlhood, who didn’t like to buy me shoes and clothes in dress-me-up sessions with other playmates. But they grew up not being quite the woman other people expect. They are deviants and outcasts of society, women who are infused with just a little too much testosterone.

I know I have no capability to walk. If I were a real human I will not be able to walk due to my body’s disproportion. My image is unrealistic and any woman who attempts to be just like me ends up dead, whether emotionally or physically.
I am spiritually deprived. I am emotionally incapable. People who want to look like me fail to understand that I have a package that they will have to embrace if they follow my path.

I know that no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to buy myself peace or feel the joy of being loved from within.

So…I am just dragging every little girl I could find so that I could at least get every little girl to respect me and accompany me in my lonely plight as a mere visual esthetic.

Unfortunately for these girls, they forget that I am a part of play and ascribed more authority to me as they  grew to be women.

I got addicted to the power, and I have no capability to talk or to laugh out loud at their faces for how enslaved they are in looking like me. Neither have the capability to warn those who have gone too far in fulfilling their fantasies to copy my waistline and my bra size and my gams.

It’s their prerogative if they are going to outgrow the lies and start living to love their bodies– a thing I have inevitably stolen from them while they set me up to have tea in childhood afternoons spent in playrooms.