Society's Perfect Satire
Society’s Perfection
Holding on tight to the edge of the cliff,
With this iron grip of mine,
Hanging there until my fingers go stiff,
I’ll try not to cross the line.
Back and forth, back and forth, I get yanked from left to right,
And the little voices in my head all day, all they do is fight.
To the left I go, to the right, I dance the dance of rag doll.
I feel my fingers sweaty and slipping, and soon, I will fall.
A flock of birds flies by overhead, gliding in perfect symmetry,
But that is the dance of the birds, that is not how we should be.
We are told from our childhood to be society’s perfection,
Perfect Barbie and perfect Ken, it beats us like an infection.
Why does society get to choose our idealism?
What happened to individualism?
Society is a siren, showing us on surface level what we want to see,
But behind all the glitter and glamour, a monster is underneath.
Its song can sweep even the strongest of wills straight off its feet,
Erode self-confidence like wind and water erodes rock into sand on a beach.
It moulds us like clay into its ideal of a human being,
But there’s only one type of human it sees, a shallow and appearance-obsessed “darling.”
As the voices in my head scream louder and louder, I realize they are not mine,
They were planted by something else, a two-faced Frankenstein,
And as I look on either side of me, I find I am not alone,
I am surrounded by other victims, hanging, their knuckles white to the bone.
And looking below, scattered at the bottom of the canyon, is something very grave,
The remains of those who didn’t make it, who fell before they could be saved.
I make what could very well be the most important decision of my life,
I decide not to join them, I push the Siren’s song out of my head, and I pull up with all my might.
It is gruelling, a real struggle, but after much of my effort,
I collapse at the top and hear the voices dissipate with not another word.
I walk along the edge, pulling several others up,
But some cannot be saved, so we must avenge them by emptying society’s cup.
Holding on tight to the edge of the cliff,
With this iron grip of mine,
Hanging there until my fingers go stiff,
I’ll try not to cross the line.
Back and forth, back and forth, I get yanked from left to right,
And the little voices in my head all day, all they do is fight.
To the left I go, to the right, I dance the dance of rag doll.
I feel my fingers sweaty and slipping, and soon, I will fall.
A flock of birds flies by overhead, gliding in perfect symmetry,
But that is the dance of the birds, that is not how we should be.
We are told from our childhood to be society’s perfection,
Perfect Barbie and perfect Ken, it beats us like an infection.
Why does society get to choose our idealism?
What happened to individualism?
Society is a siren, showing us on surface level what we want to see,
But behind all the glitter and glamour, a monster is underneath.
Its song can sweep even the strongest of wills straight off its feet,
Erode self-confidence like wind and water erodes rock into sand on a beach.
It moulds us like clay into its ideal of a human being,
But there’s only one type of human it sees, a shallow and appearance-obsessed “darling.”
As the voices in my head scream louder and louder, I realize they are not mine,
They were planted by something else, a two-faced Frankenstein,
And as I look on either side of me, I find I am not alone,
I am surrounded by other victims, hanging, their knuckles white to the bone.
And looking below, scattered at the bottom of the canyon, is something very grave,
The remains of those who didn’t make it, who fell before they could be saved.
I make what could very well be the most important decision of my life,
I decide not to join them, I push the Siren’s song out of my head, and I pull up with all my might.
It is gruelling, a real struggle, but after much of my effort,
I collapse at the top and hear the voices dissipate with not another word.
I walk along the edge, pulling several others up,
But some cannot be saved, so we must avenge them by emptying society’s cup.