My heart it aches beyond thy slowest torture inflicted
At the first mention of what shall be considered beauty.
Such impossibility casts a spell for my heart never to be uplifted
And thus thee abyss ravages my soul that is now off duty.
Respect is no longer apparent as women sling off their clothes.
And for what? A second of appreciation that shall diminish their worth.
The angst and the pain will surface again on thee apparent as you cringe your pose.
The fairy-tale once dreamt will vanish with what’s left of your mirth.
But the silent streets hold the secrets so tightly and dear.
And those are so slighted at the slightest attempt for a repair
That they hover o’er our minds making us believe through fear.
So every maiden goes along with what men claim to be beautiful and fair.
The issue is this: that women have been convinced they’re just for sex.
The struggle is visible as those try to escape the terrible expectation.
But mostly all fall in line to believe this is the norm as though we’re all under a hex.
The world must break free and realize this tumultuous fixation.
But the hushes have grown so quiet inside.
Most have forgotten the voices deep down.
And the pain we have been forced to hide.
We may wear smiles, but inside is a frown.
So the Winter rages on as the true beauty fades.
The hope still clings to the last daunting leaves left.
But the pressure to be sexy and beautiful cascades.
What has happened to what’s inside? Or did we forget?
For those unable to speak up.
For those who have taken their lives feeling not good enough.
For yourself and what you deserve.
Or did we forget?