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I live in a world where beauty is only valued in faces that look like porcelain, instead of in the faces that contain artwork. Scars, freckles, acne, moles, hair–these are what make us human and yet we are told that is not enough; we are not enough. And so we paint over these imperfections with liquids, pencils, and powders as a way to cover up our masterpieces. We are told that our skin, our bodies, our souls are deemed by someones physical ability to make ones pants rise up or leak.
I live in a world where we prefer others to appear ‘natural’, by forcing them to become life-sized moldings of ideologies that exist outside of our realm. And then we wonder why so many people are killing the parts of themselves that once made them feel something.
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