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THE WEIGHT OF PERFECT

The lyrics focuses on the constant invasion of retouched images in magazines, TV ads, social feeds, and billboards, and how that relentless pressure erodes self-esteem and mental health. The Weight of Perfect Everywhere I look, another perfect face Airbrushed skin glowing under studio lights Smiling at me from the side of the bus Open the magazine, pages filled with impossible bodies Waist pulled inward by invisible hands Eyes widened, lips filled, teeth bleached white They sell foundation that promises the same miracle Television breaks into the show with the same women Moving slowly across the screen, hair falling in perfect waves Voice-over whispers you could look like this Thirty seconds later, another product, another flawless life The images never blink They never gain weight on weekends They never wake up with yesterday’s mascara They never cry in supermarket aisles Retouched, retouched Every curve adjusted Every scar erased Retouched, retouched Until nothing human remains And I stand in front of my mirror Trying to measure the distance Between my skin and their screen Billboards tower above the highway Ten meters tall, poreless, backlit Teenagers scroll past thousands in a single evening Comparing collarbones in silence The algorithm knows exactly what hurts Feeds another filtered mouth, another tiny waist Mothers watch their daughters disappear Into bathroom scales and measuring tapes I have seen twelve-year-olds Delete their own faces Because the app told them They needed softer jawlines I have seen grown women Spend rent money On creams that promise youth In a jar that will be empty In four weeks Retouched, retouched We are drowning in perfection Retouched, retouched Until we forget Our bodies were never The problem Sometimes late at night I still open those pages Though I swore I was done The paper feels colder than it used to The women inside haven’t aged a single day While the lines around my eyes keep writing their own story I trace my stretch marks like reading braille Remembering the children they carried The laughter, the grief, the ordinary years None of it visible in their flawless world And the room stays quiet Except for my breathing Too loud Too real One day I hope we look up From the screens And see each other Unfiltered Breathing Alive Enough