They say practice makes perfect,
and you've always been smart.
But you've got hating yourself,
right down to an art.
It's now just a step
in your morning routine,
To glance in the mirror,
And not like what you've seen.
The voice in your head tells lies,
but it won't let you know.
You gave up on ignoring it,
A long time ago.
Flowers in a vase,
keep guard by your bed.
Yet you still see their beauty.
Though their petals are dead.
If they were a person,
they'd hate themselves too,
but they would always be loved
by someone like you.
Although their petals are wilted,
And you think no one knows,
You're only counting your thorns,
While the world sees your rose.
