Down the boulevards, beyond the abstract
There is a deep blue tainted wall of reality
Every girl gets hung out there to be gauged by the clique,
The onlookers came along and computed their traits
The colour, the geometry, all were quantified.
Some were picked not knowing its hankering,
To be stitched on to a montage.
Many left, and the wall was almost empty.
Leaving the remnants to wonder what went wrong,
Is it the beauty? Or is it their worth?
Impelling irony to join the beholders.
The alteration is needed in notion of folk
That all worth depictions is not dyed in pink,
But some are made of all different hues.
Header credit :To the rightful owner