i was never pretty
but i could be
there’s a boy in the mirror
with puffy eyes and nails bitten too short
he carries an anger,
not a righteous anger, but a pitiful one
there is blame in his accusatory eyes
he raises his fist to the mirror but never punches
all he mutters is “i hate you”
three words repeated till they have lost meaning
but it hurts all the same
i stretch my hand out
our fingertips meet on the surface and his gaze softens
a thin glass barrier divides our touch, keeping our fingers suspended in space
doomed never to meet
i wish i could tell him that he is deserving of love
that the world is at his every whim
there is only melancholy in his soul
and monotony in his movements
his eyes always drift to his body; it never looks right to him
a tinge of desperation and yearning stained his eyes
his breathing shudders as if the air has thinned
he hunches over, reminiscent of a gargoyle
stone heart and stiff muscles
his cries are mute but I feel the vibrations through our touch
it is only a mirror
i didn’t become pretty
but i could be.
oh i could be