Magazines are Wrong

It's impossible to be perfect

in a world of imperfections.

Where our actions are ugly

and hate spreads like an infection.

She struggles with the mirror

each morning and each night.

Using make up to cover her "flaws"

so her looks can feel just right.

See, the magazine told her

just how to be pretty.

Now her bare face is ugly

And she's fake in the city.

I wish I could tell her that

the magazines are wrong.

Just trust in God's creation;

he planned beauty all along.

I know she won't hear me

for society has drugged her.

It took away her innocence

and now daily she must suffer.

But I can't stand to see her

worrying about imaginary flaws.

When every time I see her

without make up I'm in awe.

So I scream,

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.

I'll scream at the top of my lungs

or at the top of my finger tips.

I'll be a master of tongues.