Slaves of Perfection

Why must women be subject to beauty?

Beauty hurts.

Why must we endure pain and hide our faces under pounds of makeup?

Why must we go through the trouble of keeping our unruly hair long and attractive?

Why must we pluck our eyebrows, wax our legs, and eat as if a rumbling stomach signifies satisfaction? 

Why must we spend hours in the gym shooting for that perfect figure,

and bend our backbone into submission for a person whose definition of beauty means double D’s and sex appeal.

Whose eyes have been trained to only know judgment and expect perfection    

Whose appearance screams indifference, unkept

Whose definition of men means superior

And that of women inferior, nothing, dependent, useless.

Why must I be a subject of approval?

If I had the power to change anything, I’d eradicate makeup, high heels, Play Boy.

Anything that makes us less human.

Everything that makes us women. 


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