I guess this is the age
where it really stings to be someone
like Me:
Short, plump, and hella ugly.

It’s funny how I hopelessly search for Love
when I can’t even look at the mirror,
without bursting into tears,
and wondering when I will first learn to love myself…

“You’re ugly.”
the girl whispered.
Quivering eyes.
A dull stare.

I search for Love in him.
A person I’ve known for long.
He does not know me—
not the way I want him to,

perhaps being a bystander is not always a sin.

It’s funny how I seek comfort
as I witness that beautiful grin,
when I can’t even feel at home
in my own ******* skin.

I scratch and try to rip myself,
trying hard to tear down that guise of mine.
Funny how I never realized that
this mask has fermented through Time.

Now,
I’m struggling to live with it.

I know I’m speeding straight into darkness.
Eternity was actually never really my thing.
The driver was always cursed by me,
Funny how I didn’t bother to check the mirror,
for I knew I would’ve recognized those quivering eyes
staring back at me.

I would’ve recognized…
The driver was me.

~emptysuitcase~