Who has the power to define beauty?

Who decides what makes our hearts sing?

Because lately the things we say are beautiful are fake-


For heavens sake-

We're telling young girls to throw up who they are like having it makes them a fraction less- so they starve.

We're transforming and twisting the painting of our faces and little by little erasing other races.

We're tearing down trees to make room for skyscrapers who promote outward perfection in tiny magazine papers.

We're making plastic dolls with no sense of identity instead of building real humans without vain nor vanity.


But their idea of beauty is not mine,
The essence  of real beauty cannot ever be defined.