Pressure

A question, a thought.
I wonder—why the hell not?
Why do I choose what’s not good for me, when what’s best is right in front of me?
Should I settle—or wait for the right one?
Should I smile about something that has just begun?
Should I be afraid of what is next?
Should I push away when I feel vexed?
I can’t help but feel dumb, and then there’s the constant feeling –I’m Numb
Am I Pretty Enough?
I’m so sick of these standards—
Stay skinny—don’t eat another thing.
Yet—this isn’t who I want to be.
T.V. sets scream like Banshee’s for me to be perfect.
Yet—it’s unattainable.
I’m so sick of the Unavailable.
Always telling me to put more makeup on, when I can never be good enough.
Why is the teenage life for a girl so rough?
All this freaking pressure to be who you’re not.
Why can’t we just choose to be who we are—no matter what everyone says.
Put your hands on my shoulders, and tell me I’m good enough—
Tell me I’m pretty enough, that life does not have to be rough.
Can you—Would you
make my world okay, Please help me make peace with myself today.