You simply looked at her,
how the lights play upon her color
Her hair, color of fresh rye,
Her eyes, doppelgängers of morning sky
Her skin, pristine and pure.
It was all there, written upon their enchanted eyes
It was all here, echoed in your doubtful heart
Upon that stage, carpeted in red
A voice sang and between glances you realized
Those heels of diamonds won't fit you
This dress of this shade of aqua
Is made for her, will match with her eyes
This necklace, segments of diamonds
Is designed for her, will match her spotless skin
These applause, smelling of suburbs
Is waiting for her, will see their daughters in her
You didn't look deep enough,
your thoughts sunk along with the rest of you
your darker complexion, shorter figure, narrower eyes
If you have a daughter you will tell her
she is not made for this, the world is not hers.
So when they ask whence
they should point the spotlights to
When her eyes meeting yours,
smiling, always smiling.
'I think you should go', you said
the better choice, better voice,
walk perfectly upon stages
created by people like you.
Even her pictures will look nicer
But I saw you far off and I knew,
she is no longer a person but an idol for you
she is everything you wish you could be
she fits exactly in the corset of your insecurity
Because you are the one
writing the script, moving the chairs
working late nights, shifting the gears,
cooking the food, perfecting her looks
until every second of her is yours
until your beauty drains into hers
i sometimes wonder why people would think other racial features are more appealing... but again these cosmetics/clothes look better for these looks... but who made them? Who continues to make them?