People tell me I'm pretty, no effort needed,
Yet, I can't see it; it's like a secret, unheeded.
Behind my mask, where my struggles hide,
I can't see my beauty, no matter how I've tried.
On medicine's path, fighting inside,
Makeup becomes my shield, feelings to hide.
No sleepovers, not showing my real me,
In my quiet room, that's where I'll be.
Never sharing the true me, always keeping away,
Behind a mask, where my real self can't stay.
Avoiding eyes that might see too much,
In my own space, emotions I touch.
Thinking they'd dislike me if my true face they'd view,
For inside, I hold so much self-loathing too.
Crying alone, shadows as my friend,
Wishing for a mask that could truly mend.
If they saw the real me, would love turn to fright?
The mirror shows a self-love fight.
Yet, in the quiet, a question repeats,
Can self-love exist where beauty retreats?
Behind the mask, in layers of pain,
Is there a way for self-acceptance to gain?
A journey to self-love, in shadows to wend,
Seeking solace where beauty I can't comprehend.
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Poems
PoetryPoetry is my coping mechanism. It's a profound dive into the intricate emotions swirling within me. Each line serves as a carefully crafted expression, dealing with the weight of genuine, heavy experiences. Carrying the profound weight of what's tru...
