#nofilter, view my recording at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=raDEhCHsB8E

In a world where people are periodically posting pics and sending selfies to fellow citizens, there is a surprising amount of self hate surrounding the subject. Females, in particular, are the first to find themselves fleeing fuckboys that are screaming "you fugly fatass!" "you fanatical freak!" well go fuck yourself. Girls tend to hate their bodies, biased basing themselves of these strict black line basics of beauty. I'm eight years old i'd like to check and see if i am beautiful? Well, let me just skim this magazine here- thigh gap, rib cage visible, perfect skin, hourglass figure, virtually unattainable features? So you know what, I won't even bother finishing this quiz because apparently if I've answered no to one or more of these I'm not any amount of amazing and do not deserve affection from myself or others. What a fun little test we're taking, comparing ourselves to photoshop models. And sometimes, a brave soul will shout "No! I refuse to continue! I am beautiful and you are too!" But soon they, too, are sneakily silenced through maniacal methods of our roommates measuring each other while we laugh and then they scream at us that we are nothing. Our bitching brothers and slithering sisters are selling their souls to feel pretty because they have been taught that it is their place to do so. But even though there will always be uninvited kiss-ass critics giving empty cross-examinations every time anyone and everyone makes an easily alarmed and excited exclamation of self-confidence, a proclamation accusing each other with their pity party flaws and passive-agressive preachings of narcissism that are passing the point. Our generation has the potential to push past the egotistical envying of others pretty little filtered pics, photographs, and snapshot selfies that are selling nothing but self love, though it might be slinging a slightly slaying slip of shade from time to time. And you know what? I don't give a shit about your pretty pricey little filters. I am a photographer. I see only the finest in you, I see the beauty etched in the carefully crafted creases and wrinkles orbiting your eyes and the freckles scattered upon your cheeks are kaleidoscope constellations. I don't care if you're not pretty in pink or if you are no poppy flower or if the prissy pissy purple paper pushing princessly powerful pussy pricers tell you otherwise. You are perfect. There is no need to primp and pluck and wax and brush and place filters over your person, no need to prostitute yourself to plastic just to feel the pinnacle of popularity. And of course it's perfectly pleasurable and positive to enhance your natural features, it's just that you don't need to feel the need to weigh down and filter out the priceless imperfections that make you unique. There is no necessity to pinch away at your pinkies and replace every inch of your body with plastic. You, yourself, are perfectly pleasant in every way shape and form and you've got to see that.

This poem is about: 
My community
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