They don't ask survivors to compete in
beauty contests.
Not the women who were cut and sewn,
raped and beaten,
abused and restrained,
destroyed.
You won't find a
scarred, sun-burned vixen
running for
Ms. America.
There are no trophies for
former prostitutes.
Nobody writes songs for
the collateral damage of war,
those who are
one limb or breast short,
their appendages given
to protect their children.
Vogue doesn't print pics of the
swolle controllers of whole
households, villages.
These pretty girls don't get seen,
and they don't give a damn.
They are too busy praising their gods for
live and breath and
little remnants of wealth.
They do not subscribe to
fashion mags.
They enjoy their rags,
whatever the brand,
with or without the love of a man,
and they do the best they can.
When people judge them in ignorance,
they don't give a damn.
This is what a woman is.
She adjusts to life's curves as she lives.
She shakes, but she endures.
She is beautiful.
Look at her.
She has the audacity to be seen
in public.
-T. D. James-Moss
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