Picture Perfect?




That’s how it starts.

No, another snap- my hair wasn’t right. 

No, another snap- she wasn’t ready. 

Here starts the unfeasible chase for the picture perfect moment. 

“Make sure to send me that picture.” 

But of course I won’t send it to her until I post it first. 

I’m part of the “Selfie” generation

Where a person’s self stature is based on a number. 

How many likes? How many retweets? 




That’s step two. 

Black and white.

No, Lo-Fi.

No, maybe amaro.

None of these are working. 

Even no filter looks better than this. 

Would I dare to post an unfiltered picture-

With all my insecurities let out in the open? 

Will people actually “like” the real me? 

The real me who has to give herself a pep talk every morning before school. 

Who has boasted about getting into college, but secretly worries if she can afford it. 

Who’s most crucial desire is to be on TV, but is shadowed with overwhelming doubt. 

Maybe the world would rather see the real me, instead of the mask I wear. 



Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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