Thing is,

 

The days she wakes up

With dread for the mirror

And nights crumble away

With never-ending tears.

Because she isn’t-

Because she can’t be-

Because she’ll never be-

 

And I think about her and

Can’t help wondering;

Not why she’s like that but

Why she feels that way.

Why does she feel shame?

Why so much pain?

Why does she crave to be

Someone she’ll never be?

 

I think about her anger

And I think about her rage

And I see that girl crying

And wonder why she cares

Wonder why she’s so hell-bent

On a permutation

Into someone else

Which the world will call ‘Beautiful’.

 

And so it’s our dismal fate.

As we watch the elite of our world

The ones who are ‘beautiful’

The ones who have it all

The ones who receive

All the unending, glorious attention

The ones who are on top

Because they’re just beautiful.

 

And my heart will not stop

Bleeding verses of anger;

And it will not stop crying

Words of indignant desolation

And it won’t stop wondering

What our world has come to;

And it won’t stop fuming

At how deep the depth of shallowness

Have swallowed who we were meant to be

And turned us into nothing but

Headless, brainless corpses of the ficklest

Vainest, most insubstantial piece of rags

Who see only what they see and who are

What the world needs them to be.

 

Look good, you get the fame

Look good, you be ‘game’

Look good, you get ‘Hot-damn’

Look good, they crave your name

Look good, they wish to claim

Look good, feel no shame

Look good, entice the tame

Look good- it’s all the same.

 

Look bad- oh what shame

Look bad- pitied ‘game’

Look bad- they mock your name

Look bad- and you’re to blame

Look bad- and you they maim

Look bad- never claimed.

 

And I wonder about that girl

And wonder why she cries.

But how can I blame her?

When I am no better, no different, no wiser;

Though I should know better;

Though we should all know better;

Than selling our souls to the game

To Be-

Be seen-

 

Beautiful.