I'll count me toes; 

Ten to be exact.

And I'll check on my nose,

Make sure it's compact.

I can't be different from you,

No, I must be perfect and quaint.

I can't be less than you;

I don't want to be taint.

You're pictures are alluring.

Distinctions start blurring.

We must be one in the same,

Or I'll never reach fame.

Dear media, I'll try.

Till the day I die,

To fit into your image and ideal,

No matter how unreal.

People say I shouldn't so,

I see them just as lustful though.

They don't know how you compel me,

Nor do they see what I see.

And how much you pressure me to fit in,

I can't stop until I win.