She looks in the mirror
Thinking I am not enough
She‘s wearing a hoodie and no make up, her hair is oily
Just a casual look, it‘s a family holiday though

She looks in the mirror
Thinking I am ugly
My hair is thin, my belly thick, my ears stick out and not even to start with my nose
She feels like crying

She looks in the mirror
Thinking why have others such luck
And I don‘t
I want to look like them, like the pretty girls
Like the girls that get the boys

The boys.
They never want her
They want the thin and pretty girls, the girls with big ***** and a fat ***
She doesn’t have this
She‘s sad

She‘s never the one no matter how hard she tries
It‘s Hard for her seeing everyone falling in love
Hard for her to see how every girl finds a boy that loves her, her body, her personality
Just one guy would be enough she thinks

But one guy broke her
Made it worse
Made her feel worse than before
Worse and worthless

She‘s afraid she never will be good enough
She will never be the one
But she has hope
Hope that one day
She looks in the mirror
And thinks I am good enough, I am perfect just the way I am

When I think of those days, I only
remember gathering wood in the cold
in my black coat so I could get a fire going
in the cast iron of a gray early morning;
I dream what it is to be a man lying
beside a delicate woman, sad and quiet,
playing the mandolin, looking at her as
if she were a couple of plums together like
a cluster within reaching distance on the branch;
thinking of the lunar dust of her face, and how
her fingers were like feathers; I heard
the silence of the mill wheel not turning
in the stream and the wild turkeys not drinking;
I knew they had hypnotized themselves wide-
eyed and staring into the steel ax of the creek.

Some may think
a spark
is just a spark
a weak attempt
at a start
to a flame
when in fact
it is the beginning
of an art
found in the ashes
and stone cold bones
of a dark hole
in Zhoukoudian.