Pressure.

It affects everyone.

It told me I needed to be pretty,

To be popular.

I needed to be thin,

To be liked.

But it had lied.

Pressure.

Society created it,

And all the versions it came with.

Being pretty,

Was mine.

But what really is pretty,

Or even ugly?

It doesn’t come from the outside,

It comes from within.

I lay beside Aiden’s grave,

And hold my left hand out beside me.

I know he’s there,

Lying on the fresh dirt,

With his fingers intertwined with mine.

We stare up at the clouds,

And dream of better days.
Days,

Where there is no pretty.

Days,

Where there is no need to provide.

Days,

Where love comes from within.
Days,

Where there’s no such thing as perfect.

Days,

Where being accepted is a joke.

But these days only can come,

When people realize the truth behind the pressures.

I don’t think there will ever be a day,

Where I won’t think of Aiden.

I know eventually,

I’ll grow up,

Get married,

And have kids.

But I’ll always love Aiden,

No matter who comes along.

Without him,

I wouldn’t have realized,

That popularity is just a game,

Just like being pretty.

He was my saviour,

My realization,

And now,

My guardian angel.

Society,

Is the one who caused Aiden’s death.

If there was no pressure,

He would still be alive.

But I know,

His death brings a better future,

Where his Mom can understand,

Perfection is unattainable.

The wind blows my hair,

And whispers Aiden’s name.

He will forever be in my mind,

My heart,

And all around me.

I feel him squeeze my hand,

Like I did to him when he passed away.

We stare up at the sky,

And whisper to the world around us.

Everyone has a pressure.

What’s yours?