Society's Perfect Satire

Society’s Perfection

Holding on tight to the edge of the cliff,
With this iron grip of mine,
Hanging there until my fingers go stiff,
I’ll try not to cross the line.

Back and forth, back and forth, I get yanked from left to right,
And the little voices in my head all day, all they do is fight.
To the left I go, to the right, I dance the dance of rag doll.
I feel my fingers sweaty and slipping, and soon, I will fall.

A flock of birds flies by overhead, gliding in perfect symmetry,
But that is the dance of the birds, that is not how we should be.
We are told from our childhood to be society’s perfection,
Perfect Barbie and perfect Ken, it beats us like an infection.

Why does society get to choose our idealism?
What happened to individualism?