Beauty.
The standard goal.
Society kills me.
They tell you to “be yourself, you’re beautiful”
Judge you for it,
Then encourage you to do it again.
Who are they to decide?
In fact, who decided the status quo,
What determines true beauty?
They say everyone’s beautiful in their own way,
But that’s just the appetizer.
The main course is the “fact” that everyone’s different,.
And in order to achieve the standard level of “perfect”,
“Buy this item! It’ll make you more perfect, I swear!”
“Wear these clothes, it’ll complement the parts of your body we’ve defined as
‘Attractive’!”
“Do these workouts, it’ll give you a flatter stomach, tighter abs, a sexier beach body!”
The fact that they took our weak spot,
Perfection
And dangled the idea,
The possibility in front of us
To sell their products
To keep us coming back, to make money
Because, let’s be real, money’s everything.
They convince us that we can achieve something that doesn't exist,
But we want it to,
We hope for it,
Because….what?
Looks are everything?
No.
In 80 years, we’ll all look old and weird, so what’s the point?
Look good everyday,
Hope someone finds you attractive,
Potentially fall in “love” with somebody who only desires your looks?
If that’s your goal, ***, you've got your priorities mixed up
Life’s not gonna care whether you’re
Attractive,
Ugly,
Skinny,
Thick,
Short,
Tall,
Smart,
Stupi­d,
Or the greatest person alive.
It’s gonna knock you down no matter what,
And in 120 years, we’ll all be dead anyway.
Why waste your time hoping to accomplish a false reality,
So you can live your years in luxury,
Rather than just being thankful and happy?
Don’t spend your time trying to get to what you don’t even want,
But have been programmed to accept.
Re-program yourself.
***** the system.

If the label on a bottle of poison were more pretty,
More people would choose it over the ugly antidote.
This is a problem we face,
When the vision is blurry.

not an object
just rhythm and beauty
pain knows no bounds
silence echos a voice
lustful eyes
gluttonous hands
fragile vase
SMASH
pieces everywhere
the day moves on unaware

Never tell me of my imperfections.
For it is my imperfections that make me who i am.

Dont make fun of the way i scratch my nose or wiggle my toes.
The idiosyncrasies i have make me what i am and what i will become.

Or rather who I will become.
Because I am not a what or will or whim or a dream.
I am a human just being in time and space.

Flittering around on a pinpoint of a globe I call home because I don't know what else to do with my existence.

I didnt come out of the womb knowing exactly what i would do one day.
Nor did I come knowing of all the lives I would impact upon.
I didnt come knowing who i am and how my personality would affect My lifespan.

I came out with sparkles in my eyes and a hunger to prove i belong in a society that doesn't want to approve of anyone in the first place.

They say that all little white girls like me are privileged.
Though they know everyone has a different struggle.
Society is a hypocrite.

One second it'll say that people like me are accepted.
The cracked, the gay, the rebel.
But then it's confused.
Because I'm pale white with blonde hair and blue eyes.
How could this mixture even be?

I dyed my hair when I was young because I was tired of being called ditzy.
I wore colored contacts because I thought my eyes were to bright for such a somber world.
It wasn't until I was older.

It wasn't until I was wiser.
That I realized that there is no such thing as society.
The brain is so complex and we are all so focused on fitting in that we created an invisible standard for ourselves.

Blacks are "ghetto"
Whites are "privlaged"
And every other racial color is bled from the picture.
Society,
This invisible standard,
Started hounding me from a young age, telling me my thighs and arms were always to big.

Or that I was less because I didn't wear makeup everyday like every other 15 year old trying to fit in.
The invisible standard would cut me down until I cut myself open at the seams.
Bleeding onto the pages of textbooks and papers that I need to "get somewhere" in life.

Bleeding onto those job applications that say that you need experience to earn the experience to get experience for the job that you need to pay for the student loans you had to get in order to earn that degree to get the job.

The invisible standard tells me that little pale skined, blonde haired, blue eyed girls like me who can't handle their ***** need to always look over their shoulder otherwise I'll be taken or drugged or *****.

That all little girls fathers have to stand at the door holding a shotgun telling a boy that he's not good enough for her.

But why
Isn't that the question.
Why does the father have to hold the shotgun?
Can't he raise her well enough that she knows a healthy relationship from a harmful one?

Or can he raise her well enough to know if a boy is treating her right or wrong?

The invisible standard we have set for ourselves is telling each of us we don't belong in the world.
That all of these pale white girls with blonde hair and blue eyes are fragile

But at the same time they are the dumb ones.

Obviously if I was dumb I wouldn't be here.
If I was what society has called me out to be I wouldn't be over a piece of paper pouring words from my psyche onto it with such a force that shook the foundation of society itself.

Because that's the thing about this invisible standard.

There's nothing that you actually have to prove to it because it doesn't even exisit.

I don't need to fall at your feet,
I don't need to to meet your every standard.
I've got my own,
I know what I want,
I've shown that and I've own that;
I got my own.
I won't miss your kiss all the time.
I'll be fine,
I love you, but you got to know that I sometimes need me, myself, and I.
Why do you let your big ego get in the way?,
One of these days if you keep it up I won't stay.
Because I got my own.
I'm just fine alone so don't worry about me,
If you can see that then we can be just fine.
I got my own my mind and I want to make my own descions when it has to do with my life.
So don't you dare try to run my life for me.
I got my own,
I got my own,
I got my own,
I got my own.

Girl interrupted,
because my values don't consent to your norm.