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Lianna Walters Jun 2015
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.
WE DECIDE WHAT THE STANDARD FOR BEAUTY IS. I SAY **** IT, WHY IS THERE A STANDARD AT ALL?
Lianna Walters Jun 2015
When I was younger

People would tell me to love myself

Back then,

I would ask,

Who doesn't?

8 years later,

I ask,

*Who does?
Lianna Walters Jun 2015
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”
Oh darling…
After years of being bullied,
Bullying myself,
Are you aware the state I’m in?
My hands, they shake.
My head, it spins.
To be trapped in your own mind,
To be hooked on a drug they call sadness,
It’s torture.
I am a POW.
A prisoner of the war I am at with myself
When my mind says “Move on”,
And my heart says “Hold on”,
And my body says “I’m not sure how much more of this I can take”,
Who to listen to?
So I am punished for everything broken in my life
As I grasp through the darkness,
Trying to glue it all back together,
Ignoring the cuts the sharp shattered dreams bring,
But I’m so tired of self-pity.
So tired of holding onto people and things that have long left my life
Hoping one day
These real eyes
Will realize
When those real lies are told
So I can stop and ask myself is it really worth it.
Or better yet, am I really worth it?
Or am I just a complication?
Someone who you would be better off without,
At least you won’t have to act like you love me.
Lie about being there for me,
Dangle in front of me the possibility of happiness,
Then pretend to help me pick up the pieces of my broken heart
I’m so tired.
Stupid us, thinking we were in love.
Stupid me, thinking I was finally good enough.
So when I hear that stupid rhyme,
It brings me back.
Re-read the top if you must to completely grasp,
But don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone.
Bullying is serious. In fourth grade I almost committed suicide because of it. If you see it, step in. If you're going through it, speak up. Don't let it push you to this point.
Casey Hamilton Apr 2015
But the road is a dead end.
The raccoons rampage your cooler and
The compass moves no more.
The stars stay in a moving place.
Circumnavigating your home upon
Every hour.
The poor, poor girl wanders the
Desolate halls. Books strewn on the tile.
Where shall she go? What shall she do?
The toothbrush moves redundantly so,
Updown, updown,
Updown.
Free-verse haikus, a figment
Of the imagination. Five-seven-five
Forever.
Molasses spills from every orifice,
The throat's opening blocked by
Slop and gunk.
Will anyone help?
One would like to think so, but
No such luck.

Stare in the mirror and
Comb your hair, your train
Is boarding now.
Casey Hamilton Apr 2015
We look upon the water and we see-
Among the sticks and twigs of chaos’ reign-
The type of person that we long to be.

The changes undertaken are in vain,
Beneath the surface creatures cry in pain-
We look upon the water and we see

The imperfections; all the things that feign
The other’s interest, if we just became
The type of person that we long to be...

But as our eyes grow tired and necks crane
And as our souls erupt in hatred’s flame,
We look upon the water and we see...

We see, through glasses fogged by pouring rain
The looking glass that lies and causes pain,
The type of person that we long to be.

Our imperfections cloud our views, they reign
Upon us and make misery a game-
We look upon the water and we see
The type of person that we long to be.
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