People tell me I'm gorgeous, beautiful, pretty
And although it might be petty
I find myself doubting what they assure me is the truth
Staring in the mirror, telling myself I'm ugly without ruth
Maybe it's my fault for not seeing what they do
Maybe they blame me too
But my eyes refuse to see it
And instead see every ugly bit
That makes up my face
Thoughts running through my head as if it's a race
To see who can break me faster
Saying that my face is but a disaster
Is it just me who does this?
Or is it a common crisis?
YOU ARE READING
A Book of Poems
PoesíaJust some of the poems I've written. I figured I should post some to get some feedback. Thanks for reading :)
