A Drop of Life

Pretty, pretty, pretty

It’s petty, but everyone is petty.

It’s foolish, but everyone is foolish.

It’s stupid, but everyone is stupid.

This is what you consoled yourself with, because surely you’re not the only person in the world who feels this way. Surely there’s someone else out there who is just as petty, just as foolish, just as stupid.

Because glossy hair and full lips, piercing eyes and high cheekbones and flawless skin and symmetrical faces and perfect proportions and confidence and beauty and sexy and is this all that’s left in this world? There’s piles and piles of trash in your mind, filth because beauty can’t be everything, right?

You turn on the T.V and there’s tall, thin girls and muscled men with chiselled chins and oh, there’s another add about make-up and oh, there’s a new clothing store out and there’s designer purses and new cars and just stop!

The girls in your class are all wearing pretty bras from Victoria’s Secret even though they’re only twelve and there’s nothing even there, and they spend hours in the morning fixing their hair and make-up and making themselves look pretty and the boys know about sex now so that’s all they can talk about and they compare all the girls in class and make them feel low because they don’t have curves or breasts or waists and good lord, we’re only twelve.

But so are they, and you’ve heard them whisper and you’ve seen them at the gyms even though they’re not supposed to be there. Working hours and hours because the T.V told them that the only way to get a girl is if they’re got the perfect body, muscled and hard with twinkling smiles and that boy threw away his glasses because the girl he liked rejected him and that boy is a loner cause he’s gay and nobody likes him and that girl doesn’t talk anymore cause she’s only an A-cup  and her friends are too scared to get too close to her cause she’s bisexual and he’s turned to smoking to get away from it and she’s started to do drugs and, and, and…

 And we’re all just killing ourselves!

There’s a long hallways and there doesn’t seem to be an end to it. The further in you go the more you get brainwashed and dependant and the more you lose your sense of self, and it’s hard to find it again when you’re stuck in between Barbie dolls and wedding dresses and beach bodies and finding love because that’s all you need to feel fulfilled.

There’s a sense of hopelessness because this is what you’re surrounded by, day in and day out. T.V, computer, even the streets and your school, there’s posters and adds and there’s shows and there’s cartoons and there’s video games and it’s a never-ending cycle. Everyone lives the same lives, grow up, go to university, get married, have kids, die, repeat.

And is it strange if you don’t want that? If you’re more interested in art or sports or video games or reading or school or your family or just sleeping even, is it so strange if you don’t care about boys or girls and really couldn’t care less about getting married or even going to university if it means that extra hour of sleep, or drawing or running or swimming or talking to your friends?

Is that so strange?

Maybe you don’t want to be a plastic doll, with a smile always plastered on your face even when you just want to let the mascara run and cry your eyes out with a flawless body and you’re only hobby being your children or your job…

 You don’t want that, is that so strange?

I compare myself to every beautiful girl I see and wish I was that beautiful