It's dark.
There is nothing here but an old, dusty mirror.
I gaze into it,
But I don't see myself,
The girl I see is much prettier.
Even with her visible imperfections,
She looks so happy with who she is;
Never second-guessing or doubting herself.
I sit and think to myself,
'Why can't I be like her,
The girl in the dusty mirror...
Why must I feel so uncomfortable in my own skin? '
I will never be her though.
For while she is accepting of her faults,
I am not...
Always downgrading myself;
Never seeing myself as pretty or being good at anything.
I pick at my barely there flaws
And make them visible for everyone to see
Will there ever be a time when I'm ok with just being me?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem