Jun 2, 2014

Imperfection | Poetry

I stand before the mirror, circling everything I wish I could change.
Before long, there's more marks on my body than freckles on my face.
It's funny how you could tell me I'm beautiful, and I'll quickly forget.
But a simple 'you're ugly,' will forever be implanted into my head.
I keep my gaze down in front of strangers, terrified they'll see what I see.
My eyes are two open windows to the doubt and insecurity.
Maybe if I just smile, play along, pretend I'm alright,
nobody will suspect those are my cries they hear at night.
And I can't help but wonder what it's like to be pretty.
To make guys stop and stare, tall, tan, and skinny.
To throw on anything and walk with confidence out the door,
instead of trying on 13 different outfits and wondering why you try for.
Why doesn't God listen to me when I beg him to be someone new?
Just live in another's skin, is that so hard to do?
For a day, that's all I need, I want to see what it's like,
to not be the one who stares at her reflection and cries.

I fear imperfection; but I am complete imperfection.

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