The dreams of this world, the glorification of human imperfection and splendour, masks the definition of who we are. We spend hours in front of ourselves, counting the lines as they permeate our souls with worry. The scars we etch onto our own spirits we ignore; the ones upon our faces, we spend our lives erasing. They say start at infancy, so you can end scratch-free in the grave.
The faces we wear to fall into the world leave us at night, turning some of our dreams into nightmares. They say injections and little tucks do the trick, and so we plaster our skins to the back of our heads and graft ourselves in more ways than they do in trees. Surgery, once invented to save lives, now a casual commodity to save face. The drugs we pump into our system to demolish fat and sag…when barely three thousand miles away, we have people dressed in skin and bones.
Suddenly the introduction of foreign material into our incredible and abused systems is a lasting trend, a ten-year fix for those whose chests cannot bear the weight of societal dictation. We cut the carbs and down the alcohol, for what we cannot see, can’t hurt us. Our bodies work tirelessly and accept our every tirade, until one day, the mirror cracks in our minds.
The years have been cruel and we have grown soft. Utterly manipulable to what the magazines portray, completely susceptible to what everyone thinks. The human body becomes a temple we worship each other in, and the beauty of our spirits begin to fade. They fade quietly and gently, back into the stars, back into time. The places we never knew, the places we could have gone.
And so we sell our souls daily, to the mind of this world. Forgetting we are stardust, forgetting there are no more contests six feet under. Obsession rules the heart when humans decide what is beautiful, what is best. We forget that closing time is nigh, and all appearances will experience lockdown.
O beautiful one, sell your mirror, and save the beauty of your soul.
