*general malaise

wave my hands to the high heavens but it doesn't mean
someone will save me
whisps of cloud encircling the most essential, the most sacred
but in a world of cheap sex and imitation cologne
it's hard to find what matters
it's hard to find something to hold on to
and this billboard is a mockery of my femininity
this advertising doesn't click with my idea of being
bleached tampons, kindergarten classrooms and "organic" greens
i want to buck this system but i don't have the means
retaliate silently, face burning, muscles taut
ready to snap at the next component of this collective onslaught
don't really give a fuck about your celebrity status
don't want to know about your silicon injections, armani suit, adopted children
don't want to know whether it's atkins, south beach or jenny craig
this is media fat and it
makes your bones weak like refined sugar
sits like cellulite on your thighs
pounds on your brain
very draining to constantly have to put up with the strain
so i won't step inside your brightly lit domain
avoid your shit like the plague
avert my eyes from your airbrushed features, images follow me hollow and vague
2 005 repercussions ready to capitalize on a weakness
my lips not full enough, hips not quite voluptuous?
maybe my pores are too big, my breasts inadequate?
how can i compete with digital perfection?
it's like running a race with no sense of direction