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Perfect

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Society has sketched this image
An image of what we should be
Need to be
And beg to be.
With a leather bad complexion
And a porcelain face
A smile anyone would die for.
And a pencil thin figure,
Only to be obtained by buckets of medications,
Vials and syringes,
And fancy workout equipment
That will never be touched.
A society where if we aren’t
Some kind of Kardashian or Hilton,
Then who are we?

So someone please tell me who invented this image?
The image that taunts so many and leaves others
Awake at night thinking
“Who am I?
The image that drowns them in their imperfections
And bleeds out onto their skin.

By now you’d think I’d be immune to this, right?
Every insult, sinking in through my flesh
And embedding itself into my head
Only as a constant reminder of what I will never be.

But who cares?
Nobody’s perfect.
And with your arrogant, appraising attitude,
The only job you’ll ever land is a dumba** on MTV.

So enjoy.
Live it up,
Laugh it up,
And drink it up.
There’s just a few more years to break the self-esteems of many
And just a few more years to pretend you’re better for your own guilty pleasures.

But when we walk into the real world,
Let the sunlight penetrate your skin
And choke on every single insult that has
Ever spilled from your oh-so-perfect lips.
Then who’ll be laughing?





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