Regret- an old slam poetry

I look back at myself,

and I really start to wonder...

If I looked the way I used to,

would I ever have been noticed?

If i didn't dress the way I did,

straighten my hair the way I do...

would you look at me the same?

If my eyes weren't lined the way they are,

in the coloured shadows, pencil and ink...

and my skin weren't covered in that pore clogging paste...

would you still call me pretty?

Maybe I've grown a bit sick of all this,

Seeing everyone with their tiny insecurities,

Puking up every last thing that keeps them alive?

God I wish I could go back to the way I used to be,

but I'm addicted, as is.

I'm addicted to the makeup, to the look, to it all.

And I think now the whole world starts to fall.

When I see beautiful people change who they are...

it makes me sick, and I know its the start,

because its too hard to go back,

Its hard to change the way things are.

Because ideals are forced on us all,

When I call people fake, its for that sickly paste,

and that blow-up doll personality,

and i know you arent' following,

but one day they'll all reach,

the point in which we seldom speak,

the point when they look back at themselves...

and think 'wow... its so hard to tell'

because people change so much,

looks, personality, it all...

and sometimes its not worth climbing...

if we all slip and fall.

I don't know the meaning of this,

i'm just trying to let it out...

in the only way I know,

without having to shout,

cus the world is asleep,

while I lay awake...

So I just hope someone reads this,

and the tightness twists in their chest,

'cus then maybe they'll understand,

exactly what I regret.