They call you pretty like it matters. Like every scratch of pain means nothing because at the end of the day tears on your eyes just make you more gorgeous. It’s almost funny. That we are so dwindled down to our looks that everything we are outside of that is damn near irrelevant. You can be anything when youre pretty. You can be mean or kind, reserved or promiscuous, shallow or deep; it doesn’t matter because noone sees those qualities anyway. And maybe if you’re lucky, the woman will do their thing, spreading your name around the grapevine to figure you out, make you into more than a god, but ultimately what can they do?

Ill tell you, they can do nothing. Because for all genders the rule is the same: Dont stand up to the beautiful, for nothing they do matters anyway.

I know, how sad for them. They’ve put on a million dollar performance just to get treated like a prize and not a person. Especially the woman, i gotta applaud us for this one, we’ve gotten irreversibly good at making a dead thing look alive. We let others rub our soft skin as if we have not nailed it to ourselves for their approval and we pretend not to know that beauty is a scam. A way to keep people looking inwards and not out at the world that made self harm marketable, using a method of control said to be choice. And of course It hurts, so we close our hearts to it.

We repeat our mantras in the mirror and desensitize ourselves to the fact that the choice doesn’t matter much. If we are not beautiful then we are dead to society. If we are beautiful then society will kill us themselves out of either jealousy or some other fruitless emotion. But no matter the path any of us take, at the end of the line we will all have our moment of realization as we stand with our shame like a badge of honor on our souls. It’ll come almost instantaneously. While others stare in horror at what we have become and roar profanities as if their time is not also near, us dull creatures will look at the stranger in our reflections and gasp in disbelief, because it will finally have dawned on us that the price of bueaty was always our identity.