I am lost in a world of silicon impressionists.

Artists form beauty with sharpened knives.

Foreign objects injected in the body,

A rape of humankind.

Why change true beauty for society’s sake?

The marks on my body took years to create,

and they’re mine,

not cloned or copied from perfect lines.

In a world where art should imitate life,

life imitates art,

and I stand miles apart

from reality.

I touch my beauty with nail bitten hand,

soft and natural,

Scarred from demand.

-Imperfect to YOUR eyes-

But I smile,

for I am not in disguise…..

from myself.