Satin dresses hug me tightly.
My curves are enhanced.
My stomach is hidden.
Legs lengthened from 6-inch heels.
My eyes pop from the numerous eyeshadows.
My lashes - made more voluminous than ever before.
My face is covered in layers of makeup.
Every imperfection, hidden.
Every flaw is nonexistent.
Every insecurity has vanished.
I look perfect... on the outside
Beneath it all.
Beneath the layers of clothes and makeup,
without the shoes.
Beneath it all, I am not what I appear to be.
Beneath it all, I strive to be like you.
You, the one whose smiles show kindness.
You, whose eyes hold waves of emotions.
Yet I remain surrounded-
Surrounded by the materialistic walls, I have created...
Instead, I am plain.
I am not the girl who is so beautifully portrayed.
I am not the girl you want me to be.
Because beneath my makeup is the imperfections and uneven tones.
Beneath my dress, beneath it, all are the scars I do my best to hide.
So you see.
I am not perfect.
I am not above normal.
Because I am simply that... normal.
I am not special.
I am simply existing, not one in a billion.
I’m not like you.
You, oh you.
The one who can light up the room simply by speaking.
No, I will never be like you.
I will forever remain plain and normal,
Not like you with your many colourful hues.
But that has and always will be good enough for me.
A little sad take on perfection and the standards of beauty that I sometimes see every day. A little rough and probably not very coherent but I like to write without having to think as odd as that may sound. It’s not perfect, but I have always hated that word anyways