Pedlars Of Perfection

Superficial souls

Vain sellers of

Artificial perfection

And critics of nature

Have planted toxic roots

Which have grown under

Skin not theirs

Which like bamboo

Under nails

Have bled

Out dying hope

And hollowed the heart

Made it cry

Tears that will not cease

Until all that is left

Is the mirror

That shows

Brittle bones

Standing in flesh

Where mind

Has deformed

And forced


As the norm

Upon beauty;

Calling it ugly

In the ubiquitous lie

Protected and promoted

By society’s hell.