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