Little Girls

Little girls, little girls, little girls
Have something to offer in the form of skirts and flavored lip balm
They don't quite understand but they follow the example
Of their high-heeled, lipsticked mothers.

Little girls get older and stop crying over scraped knees.
Instead crying over boys once they see that they possess
The ripe red fruit that is never meant for them
Daddies guard their precious treasures but daughters give out bite sized pieces
In the form of chaste kisses.

Teenage girls are the troublesome ones
They are a hot commodity and they know it
They are pretty and ripe and tantalizing
They're allowed to be gazed at and groped for and wanted
But never, ever to be picked
So they play the dangerous game of cat and mouse
Until they're finally captured.

Little girls don't stay little
They become women whose greatest possession
Exists folded neatly between their hairless legs.
They become mothers and wives
And keep on showing, but never telling
Because this isn't their game to play.