Clara 'Fig Newton' DeStefano
Whoa... - Poem by Clara 'Fig Newton' DeStefano
When I gaze into this broken, black, mirror, I see,
A tall, but not freakishly tall, young woman.
I notice a stereotypical-hypocrite staring me directly in the face.
This freckled-face teen could not be me, surely,
Because when I look into those cold, hurt, sky blue eyes, I see
A girl who regrets not saying “I love you” enough to her passed grandfather, her only, solid, father figure in her ball of crap that she called her life that can only be with her in spirit.
This female being with undulating curls in her hair,
Could this rebel-punk be me?
What did this tan, sleek, and not slender enough teen do,
To look like an outcast to everyone else, no matter if she cares or not?
Well, if that ADHD sports freak with ugly brown hair is me, then…
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