The recent decision of the model Lily Cole to pose for playboy whilst dressed as a child with white socks and clutching a teddy bear is an example of the Peadophile Culture of the media at its worst.
Note the pink cover, her hair in bunches and the childlike sulking gaze into the camera, it is nothing more than the sexual fetishisation of childhood. Lily Cole is 21 and she is a powerful sexual being, and she projects that sexuality in the photographs.
Therefore she is complicit in the process. She is an adult dressing as a child but projecting an adult sexuality. Therefore she is assisting in the process of the media sexualisation of childhood.
The sexualisation of children by the media is a process that if it were done with an adult directly would be called 'grooming' and lead to a criminal conviction and the person being placed on the Sex Offenders Register.
The editors, owners and distributors of such magazines that sexualise children are not convicted of any crimes, even though they seek to sexualise children and to eroticise children as sexual objects.
This is a crime against humanity.
I wrote this poem about what Lily Cole has done ;
The Lily Of The Valley.
Oh, white lily of the valley,
Skin pale as polished ivory,
Your petals pressed upon a page,
Peddle lies of a child at play,
With painted eyes of a whore.
Oh, precious lily of the valley,
Skin pale as polished ivory,
Your petals pressed upon a page,
Has your beauty now betrayed ,
With hair ablaze of tumbling fire.
Oh, sinister lily of the valley,
Skin pale as polished ivory,
Your petals pressed upon a page,
Trapped within your gilded cage,
A swan that hisses with rage.
Oh, deadly lily of the valley,
Skin pale as polished ivory,
Your petals pressed upon a page,
Plot seductions on a stage,
A serpents kiss to betray.
Oh, mocking lily of the valley,
Skin pale as polished ivory,
Your petals pressed upon a page,
Do seek to hunt, trap and waylay,
With pouts of crimson shame.
Oh, lost lily of the valley,
Skin pale as polished ivory,
Your petals pressed upon a page,
Are the mirrors of your shame,
Selling your beauty for sins.
Oh, faded lily of the valley,
Skin pale as polished ivory,
Your petals pressed upon a page,
Are all that ever will remain,
At the dying of your day.
