Amanda Swindahl

(12/31/87)

Lost in Ideal Perfection


Sunken cheeks, bones to weak.
How is this perfection really ever measurable?
How is there beauty in nothing?
Is it that there is nothing to be judged?
Tell me how that empty feeling ever completes you,
how do you truly define perfection,
when nothing is ever really good enough.
Masks she wears,
in makeup she hides away,
so much beauty put to shame.
She's lost in her mirror,
staring at her reflection,
she doesn't see herself disappear.
Sunken cheeks, bones to weak.
This guilty gut feeling, is what really leaves her feeling empty.

So much to say,
but it's the mind of her own that won't be heard.
She doesn't think for herself anymore.
Ulgy is the only thing she hears.
Masks she wears,
In make up she hides away,
but it's her reflection with her mind that's run away.
In her mirror she's a picture that stands still,
still not perfect she'll never be good enough,
but to us, ideal and perfect.

Staring at the stranger in the mirror,
hoping to be the one in the magazine.
Perfect is never good enough, and to us, your ideal and perfect.
But when is perfect ever good enough?

Masks she wears,
and in makeup she hides away,
a beauty so unique,
but worried about what everyone else thinks.
Did she plan her own demise?

She didn't look past to see,
she's only a portrait lost in ideal perfection,
one she'll never find.

Submitted: Friday, March 30, 2007
Edited: Wednesday, February 09, 2011
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