Beautiful, poem

Left broken and bruised on the floor
worthless and pointless, unbeautiful, unloved.
My reflection was crying but the mirror was laughing
What a sight I made, I wanted to hide away.

I wish I was beautiful, I wish I was beautiful
Taking a brush I painted my face
I blushed my cheeks, and coloured my lips
I looked in the mirror and asked
am I beautiful yet, am I beautiful yet?
No
I took a magazine and I dressed myself up
I stopped eating, I starved.
do I look like a model now?
I made myself sick, I smoked, I suffered.
am I beautiful yet, am I beautiful yet?
No
I took a razor blade, I slit my wrists,
I pressed into my cheeks and carved cheek bones
I cut into the fat that made me alive,
I distorted myself, I hurt myself, I dont know how,
but am I beautiful now? Am I beautiful now?

Firstly this poem is by no means a reflection on myself. This has been inspired by a girl I saw who was stick thin and disgustingly unhealthy. This girl was a model! She was promoting this, her magazine, her fashion posters they were telling young girls to look like this. To have waists and tummys no baby could ever grow inside, to have back bones on display as if in a case, arms and legs so thin they could break. I feel passionately about this issue, I have an 11 year old niece and god forbid she ever looked at these displays of a so called ideal and thinks she's not meeting standards! yes theyre are beautiful women, and theyre are not so beautiful women, theyre are healthy slim women and theyre are fat women and then theyre are god awful sticks, the remains of women. Being healthy and looking your best is wondeful, but to take it so far is not right. I hope one day things might change because if thats the ideal woman, then who is making these ideals? It certainly isnt me, and I doubt it's you, but whoever it is ought to be shot.