Yet held in captivity.

That is what we are.

Women, painted as a sensory illusion for men

And for the world, a poster girl of ‘perfection’

How enticing we must seem?

Caged and labeled as an object, a doll with a multimillion of stresses placed up on

Dive deeper, and perfection is a non-exinsistant concept amongst us

It’s unattainable yet cunningly forced upon us

So we give in.

But not for long.

Eventually the smile we have contrived for so long will start to fade

Our bodies and minds morphing into their true form

Breaking out of captivity

Perhaps, this true image of women is not so enticing after all

Yet now, after all this time and oppression

We shall build our own moulds