The girl walked up to her mom with the crown in her hands. Her mom, though, just looked at her and walked away. She mom wasn’t satisfied with second place.
Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and yet pageants teach you that beauty can be quantified. Measured. That we can define the specific co-ordinates of beauty. They send the message that beauty is not everywhere, its rare. And there is only one shape of beauty.
what does it mean to be beautiful. Showing it off? Or just knowing? Or maybe nothing of the sort. Who know’s. Does anyone really look at themselves and think; I am beautiful.
Six stars on her crown. She counted them again, and lifted it up to watch the light dancing off of them. One-two-three-four-five-six stars on her crown. They sent little rainbows arcing around the backstage, the spotlights just bright enough to reflect.
i guess we can all be perfect.
cant win a pageant.
a competition of outer beauty that turns people into narcissists.
turns people into monsters.
beauty is on the inside, don’t let what everyone says get you down.
There is a gloried progression taking place in the stage in front of me. It embarrassing and enliving at the same time. I feel the distance between me and the feathers and fabric.
and this year’s Ms universe is no one but… drum rolll………..
people stares at us
anticipation
building up
who will win?
riches, fame, beauty
then i woke up
miserable
harsh realities
must scavenge again
Frills and swirls and done up little girls that can’t make decisions on their own and will forever be tortured by a dream that is not theirs and will never know what they truly want out of life because they were never encouraged to discover themselves and their passions all because of their lipstick and eyeshadow and hairspray and over bearing mothers.
I try to show my beauty. Little do these people know that the beauty they are seeing is just a mask. A mask that has been carefully crafted to disguise the sadness within. Maybe, someday someone will care enough to peel it away. To tear down the walls of hairspray and makeup and tight dresses. Maybe one day…
These pageants, these circuses of the young an naive, are a breeding ground of ridiculous expectations and disappointment. It awes me to think anyone would enter their child in such a competetive and creepy event, and scares me to think this is the future of America.
Little children prancing around by order of their parents, groomed to be one out of a billion victims of society. They will perpetuate the nonsense of their forefathers and feed the growing materially associated world market.
Hello, I am a pageant. I am a random insect that eats the paper in your books and makes you regret ever wanting to meet me. Curiosity definitely killed the cat here, didn’t it? Next time, be a little bit more careful about meeting strangers. Ta-ta for now!
The beauty pageant was so boring i almost puked on myself. It was full of hot babes though, so that was exciting, but the rest of it was total boredom.
The End!
All that may cross my inner eye are the images of fake individuals; as false as the sequins on their tiaras. Children and adults both, flashing blank smiles with even blanker expressions. This mockery of beauty is more than just skin deep, as words often pass that pain my heart, and smash the halo’s I have painted above their heads.
too many little people being led by people stupider than they are who think they know whats best and if i should ever be at one id die from puking at the injustice.
beauety pagent, models, awards, winners, stuff, ummmmmmm, i dont know, want to skip to the next question but i have to wait so yeah… uummmmmmmmmmmmmmm I DONT KNOW
Her stupid fake teeth and her peroxide-blonde hair made me think of a pageant girl, made me want to puke my fat-free yogurt all over her, but I had been told she was a nice person so I decided to give her a chance. I had always been taught to give everyone a chance.
and as i step out into the light shoes on tight breath feeling slight heart hanging weak taking in a winning streak walking till i hit my peak who am i? what’s this for? will it hurt to hit the floor?
Life’d beauty pageant and we all compete,
Listing everyone else as contestants to beat,
I’m not against it, nor holding a grudge,
I’m just starting to wonder, who’s the judge?
Pageants, watching girls flaunt their talents and beauty. It’s like a barbie show case, little girls would go crazy seeing their life sized barbies walking around. They’d be yelling , “Mommy! Mommy! I want that one.”
I’m glad I was never a pageant type of girl.
A paegeant was got up to celebrate the final equality of women – even though it had all been over years ago, of course. People in painted masks did absurd sketches of times when women were gaudily dressed in crippling heels and pencil skirts; musicians parodied songs in which girls begged for boys’s attention. Everyone laughed.
It can be split up into ‘page’ and ‘ant’. A blank sheet of paper with black ants crawling all over it would look beautiful in its stark contrast of colors and of the non-moving paper and scurrying ants. Little Miss Sunshine is a hellova movie.
an expression of something, put out on show. basically, the opposite of anonymity, autonomy, independence. flashiness, bright bows, fake smiles; so many relationships are just that– fake. For the purpose of others. Is that a necessary aspect of peaceful coexistence?
She held her hand high in the air. Waving it as hard as she could and tears streaming down her face; She screamed. That was her baby on the stage and she was beautiful as ever.
I think that parents who send their kids to pageants are stupid. Dress up your child to look like a doll, just go and buy a doll. I dont see what the great motivation to make your child perfect? why? let them be who they are, dont dress them up, no makeup.
this makes me think of toddlers and tiaras and how it is terrible that these families put their little girls in skimpy costumes and wayy to much makeup and most of them do not want to be in it. These moms are living through their little girls and sometimes little boys. Watch the show you will be amazed at how our society has decided what is a pretty child, a fake tanned, fake hair, coached child. Its sad
Flash bulbs blinded her as she strode down the catwalk. She tried to keep her composure, to pretend that everything was fine, but it wasn’t. She shouldn’t be here. Not now, not ever.
The pageant was fully as festive and remarkable as he’d imagined. Marcus had feared it would not be so, that it would not live up to the tales told to him by his father, and his grandfather before him.
pageant. when i hear that word i think about sashes, crowns, beautiful smiles, gorgeous dresses. hoping i could be one of them someday, but i know that it’s not possible. so i tell myself “keep dreaming”
The glitter of her dress rained onto the floor. Her curls artificially lived a top her head. Her high shoes killed her ankles with every painful step. On the stage she went to flaunt her beauty and talents since she felt there was no other way to.
The girl walked up to her mom with the crown in her hands. Her mom, though, just looked at her and walked away. She mom wasn’t satisfied with second place.
Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and yet pageants teach you that beauty can be quantified. Measured. That we can define the specific co-ordinates of beauty. They send the message that beauty is not everywhere, its rare. And there is only one shape of beauty.
bad girl
why did you call yourself a stupid girl
you have beauty and worth
without pagents
Something that makes other girls and boys feel bad about themselves.
what does it mean to be beautiful. Showing it off? Or just knowing? Or maybe nothing of the sort. Who know’s. Does anyone really look at themselves and think; I am beautiful.
Show the world you are.
If life were a Paegant, We would all be winners, because we all are the stars of our own paegants. Caring, beautiful, and fake. we are false beings.
she curled her hair
she prepped her smile
momma said, yes girl
go gettem, baby
she winces
holds her breath,
and says,
yes ma’am.
Six stars on her crown. She counted them again, and lifted it up to watch the light dancing off of them. One-two-three-four-five-six stars on her crown. They sent little rainbows arcing around the backstage, the spotlights just bright enough to reflect.
and this year’s Miss Universe is…
drum roll
people looking at us
great anticipation
fame
riches
beauty
my life would eternally change
i woke up
harsh realities
i must scavenge again
i guess we can all be perfect.
cant win a pageant.
a competition of outer beauty that turns people into narcissists.
turns people into monsters.
beauty is on the inside, don’t let what everyone says get you down.
I’m sick of your pageantry,
the way you parade the palace steps,
picking at the pebbles,
glorious plumes showy and snarp.
I want to pick appart your feathers.
There is a gloried progression taking place in the stage in front of me. It embarrassing and enliving at the same time. I feel the distance between me and the feathers and fabric.
and this year’s Ms universe is no one but… drum rolll………..
people stares at us
anticipation
building up
who will win?
riches, fame, beauty
then i woke up
miserable
harsh realities
must scavenge again
Frills and swirls and done up little girls that can’t make decisions on their own and will forever be tortured by a dream that is not theirs and will never know what they truly want out of life because they were never encouraged to discover themselves and their passions all because of their lipstick and eyeshadow and hairspray and over bearing mothers.
move quickly,
dance
with your small arms.
watch as sparkles
cry out,
you have won.
small faces
are beauties to behold.
the pageant
that you cried.
I try to show my beauty. Little do these people know that the beauty they are seeing is just a mask. A mask that has been carefully crafted to disguise the sadness within. Maybe, someday someone will care enough to peel it away. To tear down the walls of hairspray and makeup and tight dresses. Maybe one day…
These pageants, these circuses of the young an naive, are a breeding ground of ridiculous expectations and disappointment. It awes me to think anyone would enter their child in such a competetive and creepy event, and scares me to think this is the future of America.
Little children prancing around by order of their parents, groomed to be one out of a billion victims of society. They will perpetuate the nonsense of their forefathers and feed the growing materially associated world market.
Hello, I am a pageant. I am a random insect that eats the paper in your books and makes you regret ever wanting to meet me. Curiosity definitely killed the cat here, didn’t it? Next time, be a little bit more careful about meeting strangers. Ta-ta for now!
The beauty pageant was so boring i almost puked on myself. It was full of hot babes though, so that was exciting, but the rest of it was total boredom.
The End!
All that may cross my inner eye are the images of fake individuals; as false as the sequins on their tiaras. Children and adults both, flashing blank smiles with even blanker expressions. This mockery of beauty is more than just skin deep, as words often pass that pain my heart, and smash the halo’s I have painted above their heads.
too many little people being led by people stupider than they are who think they know whats best and if i should ever be at one id die from puking at the injustice.
beauety pagent, models, awards, winners, stuff, ummmmmmm, i dont know, want to skip to the next question but i have to wait so yeah… uummmmmmmmmmmmmmm I DONT KNOW
pageant
Her stupid fake teeth and her peroxide-blonde hair made me think of a pageant girl, made me want to puke my fat-free yogurt all over her, but I had been told she was a nice person so I decided to give her a chance. I had always been taught to give everyone a chance.
Kidz r abused bye there parants and forced to enter beauty contests which kills childhood. GOD IS DEAD!
and as i step out into the light shoes on tight breath feeling slight heart hanging weak taking in a winning streak walking till i hit my peak who am i? what’s this for? will it hurt to hit the floor?
Life’d beauty pageant and we all compete,
Listing everyone else as contestants to beat,
I’m not against it, nor holding a grudge,
I’m just starting to wonder, who’s the judge?
Pageants, watching girls flaunt their talents and beauty. It’s like a barbie show case, little girls would go crazy seeing their life sized barbies walking around. They’d be yelling , “Mommy! Mommy! I want that one.”
I’m glad I was never a pageant type of girl.
A paegeant was got up to celebrate the final equality of women – even though it had all been over years ago, of course. People in painted masks did absurd sketches of times when women were gaudily dressed in crippling heels and pencil skirts; musicians parodied songs in which girls begged for boys’s attention. Everyone laughed.
It can be split up into ‘page’ and ‘ant’. A blank sheet of paper with black ants crawling all over it would look beautiful in its stark contrast of colors and of the non-moving paper and scurrying ants. Little Miss Sunshine is a hellova movie.
an expression of something, put out on show. basically, the opposite of anonymity, autonomy, independence. flashiness, bright bows, fake smiles; so many relationships are just that– fake. For the purpose of others. Is that a necessary aspect of peaceful coexistence?
She held her hand high in the air. Waving it as hard as she could and tears streaming down her face; She screamed. That was her baby on the stage and she was beautiful as ever.
I think that parents who send their kids to pageants are stupid. Dress up your child to look like a doll, just go and buy a doll. I dont see what the great motivation to make your child perfect? why? let them be who they are, dont dress them up, no makeup.
this makes me think of toddlers and tiaras and how it is terrible that these families put their little girls in skimpy costumes and wayy to much makeup and most of them do not want to be in it. These moms are living through their little girls and sometimes little boys. Watch the show you will be amazed at how our society has decided what is a pretty child, a fake tanned, fake hair, coached child. Its sad
A pageant. A girl sits on the front row, her hair in curls that her mother told her would look good.
The next day, she sits at home. Her hair is flat. Her mother was wrong, and today is wrong.
Flash bulbs blinded her as she strode down the catwalk. She tried to keep her composure, to pretend that everything was fine, but it wasn’t. She shouldn’t be here. Not now, not ever.
The pageant was fully as festive and remarkable as he’d imagined. Marcus had feared it would not be so, that it would not live up to the tales told to him by his father, and his grandfather before him.
pageant. when i hear that word i think about sashes, crowns, beautiful smiles, gorgeous dresses. hoping i could be one of them someday, but i know that it’s not possible. so i tell myself “keep dreaming”
The glitter of her dress rained onto the floor. Her curls artificially lived a top her head. Her high shoes killed her ankles with every painful step. On the stage she went to flaunt her beauty and talents since she felt there was no other way to.