She stares at me for hours at a time.
Looking for imperfections.
When she finds one she points it out immediately and sets to work on fixing it.
She claims I'm not beautiful, that I never will be.
And she says I'd be lucky, if any man out there thought otherwise.
Others say she's wrong. And they tell her I am beautiful. They compliment my hair and eye colour. She just scoffs and looks away. I want her to stare at me for hours, and not find a single imperfection. I just want her to love me, the way everyone else somehow does.
Yet she stares at me for hours at a time.
Looking for imperfections.
There's nothing I could say to make her love me more.
After all I'm just a reflection.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry by Kat
PoetryI'm not mentally stable and it's starting to show in my work. Have some popcorn, enjoy my suffering
