Brutal Truth

Slanted Like The Leaning Tower Of Pisa I. Am. Slanted. Though I Stand Enchanted By This Hungry Image Of Beauty, That Is About To Crumble, Tumble ,To The Ground, Only To Be Found In One Giant Mess. I Need To Fit The Mold, Let My Image Be Bold, Gut In and Ass Tight, But I Haven’t Eaten In Four Nights. Like Roots Crackin’, Like Roots Crackin’, Like Roots Crackin’ The Pavement Of A Side Walk, We Have Laid Down This Concrete Understanding, Only For What Is Unnatural To Break Through. It Really Doesn’t Matter What More You Can Do, As You Turn On That Silver Screen With Images Portrayed Of What Women Should Be, You Carry Baggage That Pushes You One Step Closer To Insanity, So That Every Five Minutes, Every Five Minutes, Every Five minutes You are Fixed In The Mirror, Staring at Your Body trying to find a way to improve it, Elle, Vogue, and Marie, will Tell You Your Thighs and Noes Are To Big Your Lips and Eyes Are To Small, That You Need To Be In The Gym Everyday For The Next Twenty Years Keeping Your Waist Tight So That You Might Look Good On Your Death Bed. Yet You Wont Believe When a Man Tells You You're Beautiful, That you carry the light of the sunrise, But You hate To See The Sun Rise, Because The Sun Light Exposes All Of Your Flaws…. And at some point the truth is you have started to believe that it was your fault.