Off comes the perfection.
The mascara and foundation.
I can’t help but feel a sense of liberation as I wash away the imitation of what society says is beauty.
I’m suffocating under all of the layers, the weight of scrutinization.
“Wear this.” “Don’t do that!”
“You’re too skinny.” No, now “you’re too fat.”
When did the definition of “beauty” become a stereotype?
When did the worth of something become measured by it’s hype?
When did we stop seeing the woman, and instead see only what brands she wears? Why does going “make-up free” result in looks and stares?
Everyone is beautiful. In their own special ways.
That’s what we should be teaching our young ladies nowadays.
Even Time Itself
Only the present can remember the past.
Although there comes a certain point in life
where even that memory will soon be forgotten
due to the unending erosion of time.
Like the merciless waves of the ocean,
crashing against the rocks of the shore;
the constant friction of the water
makes the surface of the once jagged rocks smooth.
Eventually everything will fade.
The fields of flowers and sturdy trees,
our loved ones and ourselves,
and even time itself.
In the end,
when the span of our lives has been spent,
we will abandon this world,
leaving nothing behind to prove our existence.
Not even a memory.