some days ,
the mirror looks me in the eyes
and
tells me all the ways in which i'm not beautiful
my brows which reach
across a bridge to unite
my nose which holds
my giant pride
my skin which is layered with
a hundred little bumps which store my spiritedness
my cheekbones which wait
for my eyes to be starry to reach for them
my muddy eyes which
the mother earth fails to emulate
some days,
the mirror looks me in the eyes
and
tells me all the ways in which i'm not beautiful
other days,
i tell the mirror all the ways in which i am.
YOU ARE READING
3am musings
PoetryJust thoughts that keep me up at night. Habitually tired of the human species.
