This is a poem i wrote. it's a little sloppy but it gets the point across.
Open Your Eyes
By: Abigail Kelley
Natural is flawless.
To cover up is to hide
Too fat, too thin, too in-between
Is perfect in His eyes.
Starvation is not a third world problem
Self-harming is now a religion
Depression results in the mausoleum
Although we’ve been forgiven
The media is our guide
To what life should be like
We nip and tuck and cut, cut, cut
Till our blood has run dry
Hollywood is paradise,
Models are the gods
The magazine is the new bible
In which we base our life on
Running our world
Around a fake façade
The imagery and false skin
Is what we desperately try to be in
Knowing it’s false
Knowing the truth
We swallow the lies
And preach it to our youth.
It’s time to open our eyes
What’s inside of our young girls
It’s time to realize
It’s not just about the prettiest curls
It’s a fight to the death
The death to oneself
Who can eat the least
To be the prettiest on the shelf
Open your mind
See what’s infecting
Your precious daughters
That the grave is collecting
Tell them they’re beautiful
Say that they’re perfect
Get into their lives
And tell them they’re worth it
Perfection is a disease
That’s infecting the souls
Of our perfect daughters
And flawless girls
The media lies
Too fat, too thin, too in-between
Is perfect in His eyes.
Starvation is not a third world problem
Self-harming is now a religion
Depression results in the mausoleum
Although we’ve been forgiven
The media is our guide
To what life should be like
We nip and tuck and cut, cut, cut
Till our blood has run dry
Hollywood is paradise,
Models are the gods
The magazine is the new bible
In which we base our life on
Running our world
Around a fake façade
The imagery and false skin
Is what we desperately try to be in
Knowing it’s false
Knowing the truth
We swallow the lies
And preach it to our youth.
It’s time to open our eyes
What’s inside of our young girls
It’s time to realize
It’s not just about the prettiest curls
It’s a fight to the death
The death to oneself
Who can eat the least
To be the prettiest on the shelf
Open your mind
See what’s infecting
Your precious daughters
That the grave is collecting
Tell them they’re beautiful
Say that they’re perfect
Get into their lives
And tell them they’re worth it
Perfection is a disease
That’s infecting the souls
Of our perfect daughters
And flawless girls
The media lies
Beauty is within
Tell them to be comfortable
In their skin
For they were wonderfully made
By the hand of God
If you tell them they’re perfect
You might be the only one.
If you've read my last post you will know my thoughts and where i stand on the whole "Thinspo" thing and bad body image. we constantly compare ourselves to what we see in the media. to the false portrayal on what we are supposed to look like. the media, the models, the photoshop experts... they're deceiving each and every one of us, saying that if you don't look like this, you're not beautiful.
however, as stated in my last post, you can see that the photos are fake. they're photoshopped. thighs are trimmed. waists are thinned. bottom is tightened...etc. not even the models look like what they want to. and if they do, they are starving themselves to achieve it.
This is the real world.
the end of my poem says it all.
tell her she is beautiful, because you might be the only one in her life to ever say it.