What They Want|Under Editing|

Picture Perfect

How could I cut so deep yet still not feel?

I feel the cuts but never feel alive.

Sometimes, I wonder, am I real?

Will I ever feel this thing they call happiness?

The deeper I cut, the more dead I start to feel.

Every time I find a reason to stop,

They give me a reason not to.

11:11 is the time I wish to leave.

I am mad at this world because they say I don't fit in.

Telling me that I'll never be pretty enough,

Just because a magazine claims I have to be thin.

Saying I'm nothing if I'm not tough.

Define pretty enough.

Will anyone ever be pretty enough?

We let society get into our heads and let them mold us

into their picture perfect.

I'm tired of being told who I can and cannot be.

What I can and cannot eat;

What I can and cannot wear;

How I can and cannot feel.

I am not a barbie doll.

You cannot dress me;

You cannot change my appearance;

You cannot throw me in a box and forget I exist.

Most of all I am not clay.

You don't get to form my size;

You don't get to build my features;

You cannot assign me a price tag or a color.

You do not get to rate me or decide with who or where I belong.

I am a human, we are humans.

We all have flesh, bones, and blood.

Why does the color of our flesh have to matter?

Why does our skin color have to define who we are?

Why must I be stereotyped?

Why must I have to live up to everyone's expectations?

We get so caught up in being what others want and forget about being happy.

I am now completely drained of this thing they call happiness.

What do you want from me?

An apology?

You want me to say sorry for not wanting to be what you want me to be?

This is reality, not a fairy tale.

I can never be picture perfect.

© 2019 Rureal ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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