If she is nothing but skin and bones
Is she not beautiful?
The once vibrant visage, now so cold and colorless.
Yet isn’t she beautiful?
Her skeleton protrudes out, like that of a dolled up corpse.
How can you say she is not beautiful?
Personality? Self-esteem be damned. How inconvenient
When her fingers are twigs, her thighs have gaps, and her hair disappears
Along with her reflection.
Her eyes starve for acceptance.
Is she not the ideal woman?
Oh, never mind the blood on your hands.
Tell her she is beautiful.