Pressure has me blinded, I'm consumed by shapes and sizes. Beauty of the world is lost in a blur. Numbers whizz round my head, Just want to be a perfect ten. No longer is it people I see, just their shapes and sizes, Where do I fit in? Why, oh why can't I be thin. Perfect straight lines or Bulging lumps, soft and round, I'm obsessed with my shape and the Size of the shadow I cast upon the ground.
I know we're meant to be different. And sometimes I can embrace my curves, but sometimes I just want to be like the objects of affection that surround us.