Images burn themselves into skin,
as scars become blueprints for beauty's grand design
wills fail time

Pin Ups lay crucified on billboards and magazines
The pages stay intact
whilst its ourselves that are torn at the seems


how dare you dictate any given way
for our beauty and appearance, our texture and our shape

a graven image sold as an intricate fold
with our self esteems disabled, we cut to create
we cut to create


with red eyes, you give the reasons why
the scars on your skin are construction lines

"they've got pills to make us stronger, pills to make us small"
there's no diagnosis, only fistful's of the cure
"with the adverts around me, what am I to think?"

"If this isn't a fight why am I in the ring?"
With her self esteem disabled, she cut to create