I don’t like the face I see in the mirror. It looks back at me with crooked teeth and eyes that don’t shine. A nose that doesn’t stand high, lips too pale, a canvas of flaws I wish I could erase. And yet, people point them out, as if I don’t already know. As if their words don’t carve deeper into the insecurities I try to hide. It’s hurtful. It lingers. It stays.
So, I wear makeup, hoping to paint over the parts of me I don’t want to see. But makeup doesn’t suit my skin. It cracks, it fades, it betrays me. I wipe it away, and I am left with the same face, the same flaws, the same ache in my chest. Even the world won’t give me something to cover myself with. Even God decided I must bear my insecurities in the open. And that thought drills a hole in my heart.
But somewhere in the cracks of my reflection, a quiet voice speaks. Maybe beauty isn’t in the height of my nose or the brightness of my eyes. Maybe it’s in the way I think, the way I love, the way I exist. Maybe the mirror only shows skin, never the soul beneath it. Maybe—just maybe—I am more than what I see.
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The Sadness With The Light Of Hope
ŞiirPoetry book explaining the sad feelings and emotions experienced by people. Provide a deeper understanding in certain things.
