Broken glass litters the floor,

their reflective shards jagged and sharp.

The newly bought mirror is shattered

'cause I can't hide my imperfections.

Clothes strewn across the room,

all of them strikingly boring.

The monstrous voice echoes in my head

telling me I'm not good enough.

That I never will be.

Society praises originality

but expects perfection.

A one size fits all build

that very few can pull off.

Girls pained by their own images of perfection,

dragging themselves to the edge of sanity.

Feeling so very small and insignificant,

like they could fall within the sidewalk cracks.

They will tell you to get over yourself,

to not care, or worry.

But we all know very well,

the monster doesn't like to be ignored.

His voice lingers in my head

even after I'm reassured.

He tells me to be wary.

That it's too good to be true.

That I am far from perfection.

Reminding me of all my insecurities.