The Ideal Poem by Vera Dike

There is ugliness behind all Your beauty
something sick and wicked in Your perfection.
The fargrance of perfume You wear
is impudent and obnoxious.
You turn Your face away
from the old, wrinkled woman.
Like if she is not good enough
unworthy of Your attention.
Deep inside, You are cripled Maiden
afraid of becoming old and fade
You don't know how to live
and You forgot how to laugh
You were told
that good girl never get dirty
and never play in mud
Silenced with banal requirements
You don't dare breathe to protest
Break the facade!
You became a toy
enslavered by the Ideal
The perfume You wear
has scent of decay
and the world of Yours is incredibly ugly