I was raised by media.
Beautiful pictures
Brainwashing children
To believe in its
False perfection.

I was raised by Barbie Dolls.
Perfect yet cold pieces of plastic
Silently screaming
That being different
Would not be tolerated.

I was raised by judgment.
Social status being
Based upon
Whether or not
Beauty was encrypted
Within your genetic code.

I was raised by disappointment.
The tears of a little girl
Who was growing up
In a harsh world
That only accepts a size two.

I was raised by disgust.
Reality setting in
Once I saw the girls who had
Become obsessed with
Their own perfection.

I was raised in hiding.
Girls cowering behind
Powder and lipstick
Hoping no one will notice
Their body’s signs of
Malnourishment.

I was raised by heartbreak.
Watching those poor girls
With vomit trickling
Down their faces
And skin stretching too tightly
Across their fragile bones.

I was raised by hypocrisy.
Cruel people demanding
You to be what they are
While dreading every
Moment they must spend
In the mirrors
Honest presence.

I was raised on imperfection.
Because it doesn't matter if you
Wear a size 2 or 16.
Being perfect is being flawless
Which means perfection will
Never be attainable.

I was raised by media.
Until I grew up and understood
That perfection is overrated
And while outer beauty will last few years,
Inner beauty will
Last a lifetime.