How dare we let a glossy page
trap us in a self-conscious cage?
It’s criminal.
It’s cruel.
It sets us up for our fall.
Product after product
We drive ourselves insane.
Striving for perfection
is as addictive as cocaine.
I speak for all the boys and girls
whose mirrors make them cry.
The cause is not their reflection –
Nor their perfectly imperfect complexion.
It’s society’s poisonous idea of perfection.
They preach it in the magazines, posing innocently on the shelves.
Will we ever see a realistic portrayal of someone like ourselves?
They show it on our screens,
bright and inescapable.
But we need to be taught that with our flaws we’re still as capable.
Fighting for perfection is dangerous and frightening.
So you must learn to find your flaws enlightening.
Accept you for you.
And don’t allow social media to dictate what you do.
Put down that glossy page.
Let nature pay its wage.
Let falsity live in rage.
And break free from the self-conscious cage.
Chloe May
A poem about identity
The happy Quitter! 
Occasionally I look up photos of celebrities with no makeup. Most of them look like regular people without the team of makeup artists and airbrushing.
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Too much “perfection” is off-putting; it’s so false. But it takes a little living to see that clearly. I’m so glad I didn’t grow up with the social media traps young people have today. This is a great poem, Bridget.
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Powerfully sensitive
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Absolutely! These days I’m far less vulnerable to this stuff. Can’t remember the last time I picked up a glossy mag, and the TV programmes we watch don’t have ads. Anyway, I’m of an age to avoid mirrors.
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Great in every way! How much suffering some people (not only young people) have to go through because they think they have to conform to a certain image created by someone whom they don’t even know themselves.
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I love it.
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Love, “Accept you for you.
And don’t allow social media to dictate what you do.”
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I don’t participate on any kind of social media and I don’t do selfies. I am too old to worry about standards in any form or way. I enjoy being me, wrinkles and all. Just the gray hair has to go, I cannot get used to it.
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I used to teach a module on advertising to mixed classes of boys and girls – this poem would have been perfect to use. As it is, we had many interesting discussions about these very things. I love the final stanza of the poem.
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My kind of perfection is something I see and feel is perfect for me – just enough for me, but not perfect or enough for others.
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