So you wear the newest fashion, the camera flashes, but there is no passion.

The color of your lips and eyes are rouse; does anyone even know the real you?

The you that runs free, the you that is the essense of " she", the you  that you can't let them see. 

The minature mirror shows all your flaws, edit, turn, cut Perfection.

Forgive me, but this generation's going in the wrong direction.

Hair is meant to be average, blemeshes to be seen,

I don't need Covergirl to tell me I'm a queen. 

So look at me, see my smile, not duck lips, my "ok" butt and "acceptable" hips.

See not the outer, but the me inside,

I'm standing in front of you, I have no need to hide.