She stood in the middle
Of the dark, dusty room
The dim glow
Of a tiny, crackling lamp
Illuminating her sagging outline
She clutched her arm
Her head ducked
Fingers twitching
She lifted her head slowly
Staring at the girl
In the old battered mirror
The spark in her eyes was gone
Replaced by a hollow, sleepy gaze
She examined
Her features
Touching her creamy skin
Tracing a finger down
Her delicate cheeks
No longer
Flushed a rosy red
Her eyes filled with tears
And suddenly she realized
That she wasn't the girl she used to be
She fought back sobs
Slowly lifting her hands up
To her face
All the words that they said
Ripping at her
Tearing brutally at her spirit
Forcing her to believe
The harsh lies
The scarring insults
That they threw at her
Every single day
Their jeers still ringing
Loud and clear
In her head
They surround her
Creeping closer
Closer and closer
Like a curtain of black
And she sank to the ground
Her eyelashes flickering
Shut
YOU ARE READING
The Girl
PoetryShe was beautiful. She was happy. She was a bright prism of colors. She was a sizzling firework of surprises. She lit up everything she walked past, with her bright, dimpled smile. They thought she was perfect. Until her world came cra...
