What have they done?
There are screens over our eyes, catching each and every flaw in that other woman and throwing out the window.
Her porcelain skin glimmers in the artificial sunlight, smooth as an untouched child. It does not dip, darken, redden, or scar.
That girl, who stares upon her with an untouched gaze, feels hot tears sting her brown eyes. Her reflection is burned into her mind:
Dark. Scarred. Blemished. Too short. Too fat. Too skinny. Ugly. Hideous. Imperfect.
Why does she think this? Why is her beautiful mind fooled, manipulated, to think her own body, her own soul, must match the one that the cruel, unbending world around her has established?
They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But what if those eyes, those beautiful pools of gold, those soulful, loving things, have been marred?
"There is one kind of beautiful," they say to the girl, and with blood streaming from her heart and tears from her eyes she nods and repeats it.
How do we make her take it back? How do we show her the view from our eyes? Even if they are equally scarred, the view of her radiance is not distorted.
One day, we will rip back the veil across our eyes and free our hearts and souls. Beauty will not be in the way a nose curves or the shade of skin.
No, it will be the song of her heart and her soul and how quickly you find yourself singing along. That is much more than what the eye can behold.