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People call me a beauty,
I hear it all the time.
But then I seem to ask myself, why?
Staring at my reflection I see no perfection.
Pills scattered on the floor,
I don't think I could do this anymore.
You think I am happy,
but that is all a lie.
See my pain and insecurities are hidden in disguise.
My life is but a shattered piece of glass,
my future tainted by my past.
Why is everyone so damn right mean?
Why is it so hard to be a teen?
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YOU ARE READING
Pale Soul Sea (#Wattys2018)
PoetryHe would chip away at my cold exterior dodging shards of ice until I was no longer hard, but even though he cracked through the surface. . . My heart would not melt.
