There's more to life than a 22-inch waist

There’s more to life than a 22 inch waist I hate to admit From my very first zit I was caught. So futile it seems that those teen magazines That I bought Could influence ME, The adolescent rebel. At fourteen years old I bought crap to be told I was fat. If I wasn’t size eight I was well overweight, I believed that! To believe what I read Well, it has to be said, I was dim. But so hard that I tried I could’ve just died To be thin. Choked myself with fingers Trying to throw Weighed myself daily Hoping not to grow Just stopped eating No breakfast or lunch for me “Gosh, I’ve eaten all day!” I’d say, Pushing away my tea. Faddy diet I would try it Hold myself in Yearn to be thin Food never tasted Teen years wasted I wanted to look like a stick! So I made myself sick! I couldn’t see That my curves were womanly Obsessed by looks and diet books I forgot about the real me Embracing their philosophy: “Girls, to get those men You really must be a sylph-size 10!” Wanting to look pre-pubescent What a brain-washed adolescent. I could’ve spurned my fears In those adolescent years With just one line from the teen-crap editor With a lot to answer for. “Make the most of what you’ve got.” I had a 38-inch bust, 35-inch hips Eyes of navy blue, full red lips Super personality, making people laugh Was far more important than what I looked like in the bath. And I began to see What those mags had done to me They weren’t ashamed Or afraid When mind games with young girls they played. I want teenage girls to know It’s WHO they are, and WHAT they know I know. My hair isn’t long as they’d like it My belly not flat and taut My make-up’s not expensive My beauty can’t be bought. I’ve got my own personality, The thing most important to me. I’ve got my own style A uniqueness you can see. I’m different and I’m lovely And it all comes from within So sod your mags and diets ‘Cos it’s NOTHING to be thin.