The Illusion Of Perfection

Perfect. The unattainable standard we have collectively set for ourselves. The idea of looking like what we see on a magazine cover when even the girl on the magazine cover does not look like that. Consciously aspiring to look like something we know has been sculpted by a computer. Girls level of respect for one another should not be about how "perfect" she is but thats what we've become. Using our friends bodies to identify exactly what we dont like about our own, expecting each other to look like something that only exists in photoshop software we have conviced ourselves that the illusion is real, that it is in our reach if we just strech a little further. But no matter how hard we strain our arms not even the tips of our fingers could possibly tap perfection.

Perfect, is whats on the magazine cover. Perfect is made of paper, and digital adjustments that have been plastered on billboards and buildings for all the people to look up to and hope to somehow look perfect someday to be desired, respected, happy. We are people. Human beings. Skin, bones, sweat, scars, pimples, cellulite, and flaws. We are not made of paper. Perfect can be ripped as easy as paper. You cannot just rip us. Perfect can be deleted as easy as clicking the reset button. We are not made of pixels. You cannot just delete us. Perfect can be taken down as easy as taking down the object it is. There is no perfect that lives and breathes. Yet we still, expect each other to conform to the paper while we try so desperately to do the same ourselves.