The bodies in the graveyard of my mind.

Untitled Part 3

I wake up and walk to the bathroom

pearching on the countertop like a cat.

looking at the reflection on the girl that stares back at me.

sometimes i see me

and sometimes i see someone else

sometimes i see someone pretty

and sometimes i see someone horrendous.

and the worst times are when i see the truth.

the tired eyes i have to keep wide during the day so i dont look like a bitch

the abnormally round face

the eyebrows that seem to always be stuck in a frown

the only thing i find pretty about that truth is her eyes

her sage green eyes framed by long lashes

its her pride and joy

the thing she loves most about her self

she doesnt think shes the ugliest thing shes ever seen

but i dont think im the prettiest either

my fingers type the truth my words cannot say.

though my thoughts can scream it.

she knows shes pretty.

and yet she feels so not.

no matter what people say

are they speaking the truth?

have they looked in the same mirror as her and seen what she has,

 or do they see something different?

I'll never know.

Maybe the girl that sees through the lying glass knows.