As I stare at the mirror, I see

Someone that doesn't look like me

She has brown eyes, a mundane colour

And her ears are one bigger than the other

Her hair is frustratingly tangled

The shape of her face clearly not angled

Her lips and nose a bit big for her face

A little too ugly for anyone's taste

As I stare on, I see

That the malicious remarks sting like a bee

But apperances aren't always what they seem

And I don't look to bad, I deem

For once I'll ignore the comments that are snarky

And be grateful for once, be happy.

You're not hot.

You're not cold.

Lukewarm.

That's what you are.

Unsure.

Confused.

In between.

It isn't terrible,

but it's bad enough.

So bad to you.

And you worry about the future.

What will happen because of this.

The future seems dim.

Cloudy, foggy.

If only this matter would only go away

like how the clouds part and

the Sun becomes visible.

And everything becomes brighter.

Better.

Is the sadness, the pain,

meant to cover up

all the happiness, the warmth

once had?

Or is it karma looking for you?

Or, perhaps, what?

You don't want to overreact,

to exaggerate.

But when will the torture end?

When will things be all sunshine again?

The question is when.

The question is what.

The question is how.

The question is why.

And the answer?

The answer is 'I don't know.'

She's scared.

She's depressed.

Tears fed her

day and night

because she feels better

only after shedding some tears.

She swallows the pill

hoping it'll be of use

and cure her

ease the pain.

She's too scared.

She can't tell her peers.

Because in this case,

they're naive.

The know nothing about it.

They'll only make things worse.

They won't understand.

They can't help.

She trembles,

and she doesn't know what to do.

Tear after tear

she sobs and sobs

feeling so helpless.

Hope?

She doesn't know.

Fear grips her

and her eyes moisten everytime

she thinks about it.

She can no longer smile.

She can no longer be happy.

"Don't fret."

Oh, how she wished she could not.

She wants the torture to end.

She wants it to be over.

Once and for all.

Is that too much to ask?

She wonders.

She's crumbling

and she's hurting.

She's scared.

And the tears

painfully

continue to flow.

What makes best friends,

best friends?

There was a time

when I called

anyone

my best friend.

It was because

I liked them.

But,

I was stupid

naive.

I gave trust so easily.

I didn't know them

not well enough.

But I called them

my best friends.

And believed so.

Until

the truths unfold.

Slapping me on the face

knocking me to the ground

messed up my feelings and thoughts.

The feeling

'like'

wasn't mutual.

It was one-sided.

I wished I knew earlier

before I made a fool

out of myself, because of myself.

'BFFs'?

That is no longer a simple word.

That is no longer a term for everyone.

Anyone.

I didn't let time

shape the relationship.

I jumped to conclusions.

It was stupid

silly.

I wouldn't have known

what I know now

if I haven't

learned it the hard way.

I thank God

for those miserable times.

They taught me

what it meant

when you call someone

your 'BFF'.

I thought about it

and I realized

it's not that easy

being a best friend.

It needs time

time to shape the relationship.

Time to get to know each other.

Their flaws

strengths

hardships

feelings

and ways.

There must be

understanding.

Loving them

for who they are.

Also

being there

till the end of time.

Not leaving

but staying.

That's what best friends do.

That's what best friends are.

What do you think

how is it like

when someone is in love?

Rather,

what is love?

Is it love because of

appearance?

They call it love at first sight.

Is it love because

you know that special someone

as well as

you know yourself?

I believe in both,

but the latter sounds

more like true love.

It sounds more...

convincing.

True love

should begin with

friendship,

and truly knowing

who that person is.

Knowing his flaws,

and strengths

and hopes

and fears.

Loving the person

for all those things.

Some quiet,

some loud.

Some demure,

some outgoing.

But if

if you had a choice,

who would you rather

have as a friend?

It takes a minute

for a humorous person

to earn a friend or more

but it takes a week

or even more

for a shy person.

The question is,

are you an outcast?

The loud or the quiet?

Do people just like you

at first glance

or do people take time?

Do people hate you

because you're annoying

ugly

ugly.

Or...perhaps..what?

What do we do?

Us,the ones who don't

get a glance of admiration at first

Do you not care?

Or do you care?

It's not a matter of 'never mind'

it's a matter of the heart

matter of feelings

can people not be so cruel?

Not so judgemental

What do we do?

Us,

not easily likeable ones.

As the gentle rays of the Sun falls upon me

I feel pretty

All  until I see this picture

That made me feel inferior, so ugly.

She looks so picture perfect

With her pretty eyes and curves

And all at once she made me feel

That I'm the ugliest one on Earth.

Her hair is smooth, so natural, a distinct brown

While my hair looks like a bird's nest, something like a clown

Her eyes the colour of hazelnuts, outshines so easily

My murky coloured orbs, and my skin,so freckly.

She's confident, the way she walks

And the words, the tone so sugary sweet when she talks

Her smile so dazzling, putting people into a spell

Her character so outgoing, 'so lovely' anyone can tell.

But then a dear friend told me

"You have underestimated your value."

And then did it really get to me

That without the ordinary, the jacks

There wouldn't be the extraordinary, the masters.