Flawless Imperfection
In today's world, perfection is key; however, perception differs greatly.
Consumed and ruled by physical thoughts, from Botox to nose jobs, we want what we want.
How easy it is to lose sight and not see the beauty we possess, born with, naturally.
To say nothing of the things we do to achieve this perfection in itself untrue.
Outsiders looking in just don't understand the feeling, the need, this change commands.
There's always something, we can't deny, in which we are very dissatisfied.
From our weight to our clothes from our heads to our toes; something's not right and everyone knows.
There's miracle cream to fade the lines on beautiful faces aging with time.
The new diet pills to help us lose weight; quickly, for certain, but who says it's safe?
Let's not forget, if this better suits you, cosmetic surgery creates a new me too!
Who decides what's beauty to me?
Defining the flaws seen on my body.
...
A Taylored Moment of Self Image
Consumed and ruled by physical thoughts, from Botox to nose jobs, we want what we want.
How easy it is to lose sight and not see the beauty we possess, born with, naturally.
To say nothing of the things we do to achieve this perfection in itself untrue.
Outsiders looking in just don't understand the feeling, the need, this change commands.
There's always something, we can't deny, in which we are very dissatisfied.
From our weight to our clothes from our heads to our toes; something's not right and everyone knows.
There's miracle cream to fade the lines on beautiful faces aging with time.
The new diet pills to help us lose weight; quickly, for certain, but who says it's safe?
Let's not forget, if this better suits you, cosmetic surgery creates a new me too!
Who decides what's beauty to me?
Defining the flaws seen on my body.
...
A Taylored Moment of Self Image
I was young...I remember that.
I was a pre-teen, barely into my double-digit age. I remember that, (not so fondly), because it was something that I carried with me all the way through to my adulthood.
Fanny Forehead.
That's the nickname I was blessed, (or cursed), with, (depending on who you asked). Can you believe that? One guess as to why I was so unfortunate enough to be called that.
My forehead is high...extra high.
...
I thought my teeth were too big for my face, I was flat-chested, (who wasn't?), my legs were too skinny, and my wardrobe was, (in my young opinion), lacking, to say the least. I was always comparing myself to my female friends and cousins.
Again, what young girl doesn't do that?
...
But my mother did not name me Fanny Forehead.
Those little snot-nosed, always picking on the girls in the neighborhood, trying to act tough, but not, insecure, snot-nosed, (did I say that already?), little boys did.
Adding fuel to the fire, all I saw on the television and in the magazines were images of beautiful, perfect, pretty women, with their perfect bodies, having what looked to be the time of their lives, of course, with their average sized foreheads, (no surprise).
It was the perfect combination for the beginnings of a complex that would last well into my adulthood.
I was a pre-teen, barely into my double-digit age. I remember that, (not so fondly), because it was something that I carried with me all the way through to my adulthood.
Fanny Forehead.
That's the nickname I was blessed, (or cursed), with, (depending on who you asked). Can you believe that? One guess as to why I was so unfortunate enough to be called that.
My forehead is high...extra high.
...
I thought my teeth were too big for my face, I was flat-chested, (who wasn't?), my legs were too skinny, and my wardrobe was, (in my young opinion), lacking, to say the least. I was always comparing myself to my female friends and cousins.
Again, what young girl doesn't do that?
...
But my mother did not name me Fanny Forehead.
Those little snot-nosed, always picking on the girls in the neighborhood, trying to act tough, but not, insecure, snot-nosed, (did I say that already?), little boys did.
Adding fuel to the fire, all I saw on the television and in the magazines were images of beautiful, perfect, pretty women, with their perfect bodies, having what looked to be the time of their lives, of course, with their average sized foreheads, (no surprise).
It was the perfect combination for the beginnings of a complex that would last well into my adulthood.