I will not hold a lie against my face,
a pixellated mask, heavy on my conscience.
The sound of youth constructing barriers of separation
is thunderous and inescapable.
Their tiny, rough hands
hold the glow of a screen in prayer,
like a routine ceremony
they warp their faces,
sending jolts of lightning information to the electric storm
raging in the night sky,
a whirlwind of re-edits and lies,
not to worship any god
but to make themselves the creator
of a false image,
a new face to be praised
by those who gaze upon them
through the faint blue glow of a screen,
with bright green envy surfacing in their aching eyes.
And as I sit in the darkness
surrounded by these pale faces,
illuminated only by the holy light
of their devices,
a feeling of distraught overcomes my being.
I wonder if they are sick
of this barrier we have constructed for ourselves.
I want to tear it down,
find a new place where our hearts are warm,
minds are open,
And any veil that had promised beauty and perfection
will be burned,
revealing the faces we were blessed with,
all decorated with dark spots, light hairs, and wrinkles.
I want to dance in the sunlight and grass
instead of shadows of uncertainty and shaky telephone screens.
I want to be told I am beautiful by a human soul
with flesh and a voice
Instead of pixellated words pasted beneath a picture.
I want a human experience
without filters that build upon eachother
to create concrete barriers.
My face is flawed
my life is flawed,
There is no filter
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