Beauty standards

Born with flawless, pure skin, perish with wrinkly, aged.

Women, loved for golden, sun-kissed skin, loved for soft, alive hair. Kissed for sweet, clean skin.

People lining up for introductions, complimenting her looks, her hair, her eyes, her skin, her curves. 

She smile sweetly, flashing my pearly whites, throwing a flirtatious wink. 

...

She stares at herself in my mirror picking apart her imperfection, her flaws, her discolorations. She sighs and gets to work, 'fixing herself' so she can go back in public. After all, who is she, if not perfect looks.

She goes out, but no compliments go her way. She smoothed down her hair, her clothes. Why is no one looking at her... She look around, her mouth dry. 'Am I ugly?' rings throughout her mind.

...

She goes home, sits down, and picks out her imperfections, her flaws, her discolorations. She tightens her lips and squint her eyes. She audibly gasps once she notices a wrinkle.

...

She sits in the comfy, hard chair. Chatter all around. The nurse calls her and she walk into the doctors office as they get to work on her Botox... After all, who is she, if not perfect looks. So she walks out and prowls the streets, people whipping their heads back at her, enticing a grin onto her face.

She continues the cycle, keeping the botox fresh.'I cant stop now, I need to look beautiful.' Haunts her thoughts like a burn. 

...

She goes on a date with a tall, handsome man, he tells her something shes never heard. 

He tells her that he loves her personality, her laugh, her jokes. He didn't mention anything about her devilish looks or ravishing body. He looked her in the eyes and smiled. He didn't look down in sinful yearning. He had a soft, kind look in his eyes. 

The type you'd only expect in young children, before they're corrupted by hellacious beauty standards that no woman can reach without poisoning their body.