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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
This just a poem that I wrote while I was on the way home from a very long and exhausting drive. I hope you like it? I may upload more, who knows.

It has a lot to do with the views of society and what I view on how we are treated by magazines and words. This has a lot to do with the views and what we have done to fit the label of perfect and gorgeous when in reality we are all pretty and we actually are meant to be something more than just what is said in magazines and critiques. I used to get called fat, forcing me into anorexia because I wanted to be liked by people. Now I understand I was a actually a healthy weight while all the other girls were freakishly skinny. My doctor said I was fine and would pop me in the nose if I ever did this again. I learned that if you listen to the judgment of others, it'll only destroy you in the end.

Submitted: August 16, 2016

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Submitted: August 16, 2016



Her hair is forced up in curls, the makeup smeared across her face.
Flaunting her diamonds and pearls, pretending to the be the epitome of grace.
Her clothes of a designer brand, her nails the definition of beauty.
The milkiest of skin turned tanned, walking along the line of her death duty.
The eyes start as blue suddenly turn green, thin lips become thick.
Holding the title of the prettiest queen, spreading on the bright red lipstick.

He works out to gain a six pack, toning his body to perfection.
Gaining new qualities they say he lacks, becoming the new class dissection.
Having to become a gentlemen, appear to have a princely aura.
Believing the judgmental words said then, having to find his princess Aurora.
Living a certain way in a cover, pretending to love one and not another.
A burning passion he'll never recover, dying as he is being smothered.

Clothes distract from the flaws created by society, hidden away in the magazines.
Building a new home of the unwanted anxiety, doing everything for the artificial means.
The makeup hides the freckles on the face, hiding the natural sight of scars.
Many things everyone must replace, as they are put behind society's bars.
Acting like their pretty, having to pretend to be gorgeous.
Walking through their inner city, singing along the heavenly chorus.

People judge by the clothes you wear, or the price you put on your body.
The way you wish to wear your hair, having to act extremely gaudy.
We must act as if we are your definition, as if we are the models on a page.
Doing things with your permission, wishing to never cause your outrage.
Our makeup and our clothes were never meant to be lies, or a false advertisement.
We never wanted to be the selfish prize, having to listen to all your chastisement.

There is a voice in our brain, it tells us that we will never be on your level.
We wear our Barbie clothes to keep us sane, listening to our little devil.
He whispers lies and tells us to pretend, that we are ugly and disgusting.
We have tried to blend in as we intend, we know we are just easily bluffing.
We keep a poker face in hopes to be your friend, acting like you for our own security.
You don't ever notice how we bend, falling into your judgmental obscurity.

The whispers inform me of your true feelings, how you wish that I was prettier.
I tried to put a band-aid on but it's never healing, my heart as it pities her.
The girl I see when I look in the mirror, an overweight person covered by pimples.
I wish I could make my eyes see clearer, to stop seeing your own symbol.

One that weighs heavy on our hearts, as you mope and groan when you define out beauty.
We are the bulls-eye on the scoring board as you throw your darts, acting all high and snooty.
We are pushed around and beaten up, acting confident when we are sick and crushed.
We are your sacrificial lambs that you roundup, we remain silent as we are hushed.

Beautiful is a word with many meanings, none are the same in each our eyes.
The title of handsome is what you are dreaming, being fed all of the lies.
We are undercover walking mental cases, having to be solved like a math problem.
Most of it stems from what we embrace, falling as we hit rock bottom.
Social anxiety brings the stress of people, faking a confidence to feel wanted.
Giving you a mental breakdown The Sequel, wanting to let ourselves be flaunted.

Depression makes us sad from your cruel looks, the harsh cut of words.
Hiding away with our reading books, locked away liked caged birds.
Materialism covers up our problems, hides what you call ugly.
As if it something solemn, we act as your lovely.

Makeup hides the flaws of my skin, clothes cover the shape of my body.
Getting drunk on the nearest sin, wishing I could just disembody.
Instead of conforming to how you want me, I wish to be my own person.
I want to fly and be free, instead of let myself worse.

I am not sexy with a skinny waist, my skin is not clear as makeup makes it.
I don't weary frilly skirts or panties that are laced, I'm not strong instead I'm quite unfit.
I wear glasses that cover my face, I act improper like a fine man.
Though to my family I am not a disgrace, I'm my own little madman.
Your words of beauty are left unheard, even though I still hear the devil say,
"You are acting absurd and going to cause yourself dismay."
All I need to say is, "Good day."

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