White skin

White picket fence

Since I was born, been set up for success

No real problems

No reason to complain

But the voices in my head keep bringing me pain

Constantly fearing that I’ll turn out like the rest

Never feel the gratification of being the best

But even with those who are the best, there’s always someone better

We race to the finish line

But what exactly is this finish line

All the frustration from the competition and the comparisons we deal with every day are merely constructs of society

And we have made ourselves feel this way

I say I hate my life, and I would kill to be someone else

But most everyone else would kill to be me

We sit in front of a silver screen

Admiring those we wish to be

But even those spend their nights alone and hungry

Their contracts keeping them from gaining a pound

Ate three meals but couldn’t keep it down

Starting to feel like they’re dying

But no one will want you if you’re not perfect

So you might as well keep starving yourself

Because isn’t it better to live miserably with all the money and adoration in the world than it is to live happily but be irrelevant?

If you’re irrelevant then you’ll be forgotten

But won’t we all be?