What is it that those eyes see when they look into a mirror?
Does she see the life in her expression? The curve of her smile?
Does she see the vast opaque depth to her green eyes? The way she laughs?
Does she see the perfect glossiness to her brown hair?
How does she see herself?
She sees herself in the worst way possible.
Is it possible that she's convinced herself that she's ugly?
Does she hate her freckles, as unique and beautiful as they are?
Does she hate her smile for her crooked teeth?
Does she hate her body because the number she sees on the scale is a tad bit higher than society deems acceptable?
Does she hate what she sees because she's got imperfect skin or her nose isn't what she views as perfect?
Does she dare think she's not beautiful?
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Meanwhile and Maybe: An Agglomeration of Deadpan Poetry
PoetryThis is a agglomeration of deadpan poetry. I don't have a clue what agglomeration even means. This will contain, as I said, deadpan poetry, sarcastic rants, rip-off themes, cryptic philosophies, and dry humor. Kick up your feet and prepared to be bo...
