(with lines borrowed from "Pretty Hurts" by Beyonce)

 

We were born in a world of contradictions 

With many sides battling for us to 

Practice what was preached and

Accepted to be truth in our hearts.

 

Even our looks,

Purely armor to protect against the precious cargo inside,

Are battered and chipped away

By the seemingly friendly, verbal blades from those around

Who proclaim to have all the answers.

 

Blonder hair, flat chesst.

TV says, "Bigger is better."

South beach, Sugar free

Vogue says, "Thinner is better."

 

Answers came in a thousand forms,

Ideas of perfection and self-help,

Attempting to fix the shell in order to fix the soul.

But really we shine the light on whatever's worst,

Pointing our "flaws" previously

Unseen in self-reflection.

 

Brush your hair. Fix your teeth. 

What you wear is all that matters.

 

The cycle of striving for beauty

Grows dangerous with unobtainable standards.

Collar bones and ribs jut out on the sidewalk,

A sign of starvation on animals

Become the picture of perfection 

In the minds of those who watch in rapture.

 

But plastic smiles and denial can only take you so far.

Because we will never be happy with the outside

Until we are with the inside.

 

Perfection is a disease of a nation.

It's the soul that needs the surgery.