MILEY CYRUS And the Lost Little Girls

Absolute power corrupts absolutely
Absolute hollowness of spirit
dissolves the inner world
absolutely

When we take a child and scoop her out
like a pumpkin with a spoon
carving a smiley face
on a pretend little girl
for a pretend world
the pleasure of profit
in every mince and grin
As we tell her she must be sweet
because that is
what girls are made of
in the sugar of her eyes
and the honey of her skin

Not just one or two
but thousands upon thousands
think they possess her love
and now she no longer knows
the boundaries of her body
the limitations of her ego
she no longer understands
that she is not
what we have made her
she is not what she seems
to be

You can be certain
the moment she buds
into the world of the woman
she will use the only power
she has been taught 
that which feeds the lust of the hungry
and denies the humility of the self

Fearing that she is truly hollow
empty of substance
of any real worth
she will sell her blossom
instead
She will dance
as the puppeteer guides her
while the world
looks on and laughs
or cries
For she is sick of sweet
she has eaten cake
till she vomits at night
so now she wants sour
and bitter and spice
she wants to be anything other
than nice
to beat her master
at his own cruel game
but she is killing herself
slowly killing her Self
as the emptiness
consumes her inside

She has lost
her senses
from a light too bright
a heat too strong
a scream too muffled to hear
She cannot find
any truth at all
for it has been taken from her
for so very long
so terribly far
so horribly, utterly wide

And as she falls
as little girls do
when she goes down
she goes down hard
and so do the many who watch her burn
all the ones who have called her name
and wished
and waited
to be just like her
As the hollowness spreads
and eats up her form
in the eyes of the cameras
in the teeth of the media
in the poison of the blame
of those who envied
what she now
has forever
lost

Like an actor trapped
in a terrible play
wearing makeup that never
quite washes away
The one she was
before this began
wanders alone
in that empty place
her only home
where the egg cracked
so long ago
and a baby girl
a perfect soul
a sweet, sweet chick
was born

So we ask whose choice
is this tragedy?
Where does it stop?
When can she leave?
Is it managers
parents
producers or fans?
Is is those who enjoy
or those who condemn?
Those who buy
and buy
and buy
to hide from their own
hollowness?

It is all
every one of us
every song she sings
every body she sells
each thin pleasure
she weaves
for so long as we are willing
to soak up her lies
she is right
she is right
there is no truth to be found

The day must return
when a child
can be a child
her innocence sacred
her power
the purity
of an unscathed life
Until that day
we await the waking up
of the hungry souls
and the empty hearts
all of them seekers
of they know not what

Can we love their confusion
their bravado
their defense?
Can we love what has been done to them
what they then do to her?
Can we love the pain
we all hold dear
and love it
love it
to death again?

With every winter
we hide and sleep
with every spring
comes a naked birth
The new little girls
lie waiting till then
curled inside their mother’s hearts
Let us leave them floating
as long as they may
for soon enough
their turn will come
Until the fight to love and be loved
until the walk from unseen to seen
the day the dance begins anew
the little girls
have earned their rest

Readings by Cynthia available worldwide
info@cynthialong.ca

What do you feel about the lost girls? How would you help them, what would you say?

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