We aren't born with insecurity,
But over time we lose our pride
and with it our perfect purity
when told we've something to hide.
We take a being so unique
And demand from it conformity,
but with each meticulous critique
we turn beauty to deformity.
I can't compare to those I see,
the symbols of perfection,
so I shall change each part of me
beyond my recollection.
A mask of makeup and a forced smile
shall serve as my disguise.
And in the mirror, all the while,
a stranger bears my eyes.
Without my guise I'm left to fear
their unfeeling criticisms.
The wicked whispers that I hear
strengthen my cynicism.
I resent the mask I wear,
suffocating and cosmetic,
but the whispers are too much to bear
in a world so apathetic.