Plastic

A Few more stitches you say will make me better.
You claim to have the secret potion, the eternal elixir, the medicine I need. You say I will live nice and tight... Nice and tethered by societal constraints of the acceptable form. It's okay you say... The prettiest have done it, just a little nip and tuck and slice and dice and fill and pump out then cut to sew and braid and tie and fix and make flawless.
The most beautiful have done it.
This the thing you want me to be is soulless. The  mirror image of deception and immortality. Yet beneath the layers I hide scars that define this change. I can't admit, I lied that I worked hard on it. Now the shame eats at me. This pivotal point of pure heresy, your madness defined on my form, I am your greatest achievement, and I am my greatest disappointment. 
Now I rot away on pills because the complications written on the box did not come written for me to read but came off the lips of one too eager to mould me.
I take a pill for this and that... I say a prayer for this and that. For the issues that came with the process and were never written on the box. Or, were they written and told to me, but my mind was already set because of her and him.
This thing you want me to be.
Convinced my nose is too fat, I picked a nose
Convinced my lips thick I sucked them out,
Convinced the trend has changed I pump them up
but not right, I live a lie.
Convinced my skin, a darker shade
Convinced I take a lighter lighter brown
That's black but not too darker now, that's light but not too lighter now
Convinced my hair is but too tough,
Convinced I weigh too little now.
Convinced I weighted too much then...
Convinced  I could bloody do better.
This thing you made is killing me.

Live and Love.
Nekh.