The Butterfly

I’m sitting here,

In my room,

Looking into my mirror

Turning to leave

I look back and think

Is my hair all done?

Are my clothes all right?

If they aren't so it wouldn't be quite alright  

Are my eyes painted?

And my face primed?

Add a little more shine

Hoping for a twinkle in another person's eye

I strive each day to look my best

Never like a crawled out of bed kind of mess

Where I’m all made up

With nothing wrong

My flaws masked

My mistakes erased

By this layer upon my face

Each tiny hair pinned back

Or lying flat

With a sticky layer of chemicals ensuring that

Going out is one thing
But sitting at home and feeling a tug 
To put on the paint and powder 
So you don't have to look in a mirror at yourself  is another 

The scars on my heart hidden by my shirt

The clawing words held in the cage of my teeth when I smile

It makes me kind of sick

And ill

To think that if I looked really real

I would be judged.

I would be unaccepted

I would be…

Ugly.

I would be that one ugly duck

In a crowd of swans

Except people would remember the ugly duck me

Not the swan I am supposed to be

Society has a fine set of definitions for beauty

They seem to change like Ohio weather

Constantly and Unexpectedly

I'm waiting for the trend to change

Till the time when I can be me

And be accepted

By not only the ones I love

But everyone

Aren’t we all beautiful…

But only seen that way if we try.

To fit into a category.

I’m not supposed to fit

Stick by Stick

And Brick by Brick

To fit the stereotype

I’m not supposed to..

Hold in my stomach until I can't breathe

Not eat until I starve

Stick up my chest and stick out my butt

To walk, as an attractive duck

A show pony on display

A trophy wife in the window

A pretty puppet putting on a show

Knowing it won’t ever end not even tomorrow

I love dressing up too

And wearing make up

But the sad thing is

Without such things

I feel naked, revealed

And ugly

Even to myself

Others help and compliment

But I somehow still hear snickering behind my back

A Whisper in my mind

But I suck it up and say I'm fine

When my insides are bleeding paint

And I’m sneezing power

My skin bare

As I try to shave away every little invisible hair

These are all hoaxes

A fake ID

To allow us to fit into society

When we are all in a masquerade

Playing hide and seek with our selves

Hiding from who we are

Waiting to be found

It’s even worse to say

Thanks to you society

For making us feel this way

The guinea pigs of your social experiment

To raise profits on hiding other’s potentials

And pushing them into the darkness of self-judgment

Others say it’s us

That it’s just us for feeling insecure

If you were raised from the day you were born

To mainly look pretty

You would understand

With branding around you saying, you can be better

And superhuman, surgically modified, Models

Where even images we adore are faked, manipulated and sham-Ed

Because the models themselves aren't good enough

What a lie

That we hold so close

That no matter who you are

You could be better

When we were young

Barbie and Disney princesses

At some point we wanted to be

Even those tiny books
that we got for puberty

With the charts all draw
Spell out how to shave and trim and keep your body
not every once saying- you are beautiful 
Just a mute whisper of- you can be better

Let's stop with this isolation, damnation, and poverty 
of our own self confidence
with an economy of inflated consciousness 

There is such a small line between 
Too little or too much
Of all this powder and fluff 
Taking in the fear of hate
Pushing us to the point to recreate
Our own faces 

We only keep doing this because we are Being pricked and prodded
Being pinned to the wall with comments begin jabbed in our hearts into our heads

Does the bareness of my face make your decisions?

Do the clothes I wear determine your fate?

Do the hairs upon my legs determine your future? 
A butterfly effect but with something I choose to control 
because just like a butterfly 
I am beautiful 
and unique
and colorful

We have our natural beauty just as them
They don't need paints and dyes to fill in the flaws of their own wings 
So why do we need it for our own skin
We are more durable than delicate stained glass wings 
We are more proud a then every beat upon those wings

But yet as it flies free, showing its talent 
we hide in our rooms, in layers of clothing, and behind layers of paint and powder 
to mimic another 

As the butterfly grows it become more open, more free

And more embracing of itself
but we as humans

Go backwards

We start, young and happy

And free

Then slowly revert

Back to our cocoons

Back to our paper walls of power and paint
a mask of mâché to cover our face