why is it that

we scroll, 

             scroll, 

                      scroll,

eyes glued onto a reflective blue light,

searching desperately for life hacks 

to make 

our skin clearer,

our waist slimmer,

our lips bigger,

our hips wider,

our nose smaller,

our jawline sharper?

we want to fix whatever flaw

society deems a disgrace.

but who makes up this society?

who determines the “ideal face?”

we are all computers,

programmed by this intangible and arcane figure,

coded to worry,

to pick ourselves apart,

to bruise our own hearts.

we are infected by the virus

of the yearning for perfection,

which can induce us

to crash,

to break down

into a clump of gigabytes and particles;

there is no more functionality,

only everlasting despondency.

down the rabbit hole we go,

sucked in by its pervasive strength

that destroys our self-images

and persuades us to “rectify” 

our broken keys

and our cracked screens–

our irreparable imperfections.