Waking up with just the right amount of sleep.
Looking in the mirror and for once
Sees perfection staring back at me.
My skin is smooth, soft and flawless.
Yet it never lasts
Like a spell a witch failed to properly cast.
In the end when the sun sets just like it's rise
I look in the mirror
But I see the truth this time.
The bags under my eyes,
Little hairs messing up my eyebrows,
Pimples scattered and spread out like soul mates.
My hair frizzy and undone.
There is no sparkle in these eyes,
No sign of joy.
This is a tortured soul lying to its self
So it can go on the next day.
YOU ARE READING
Understanding Beauty
Thơ caI need a place to let my creativity and thoughts flow. I place where I can be myself and not be judged. This book is about everything humans tend to go through... In other words it's about shit I'm going through and things I'm thinking okay. It is a...
