Life is hard.
But we live.
We live, crouching behind screens that blink, flash, blink
Flicking on and off to the rhythm of our hearts.

We walk the streets.
Hoods down, faces
Lost.
In the rectangle pieces of glass that we hold
As our lives pass under our feet.

I hide my whirlwinds of anger and trust,
Behind a veil of straightened blonde hair.
Just waiting it to blurt it out to the world,
When I'm home and the world isn't there.

Pitiful, isn't it.
Pitiful, aren't I.
Don't you feel pity for me?

Yet.

Could you lift your face up from your own small mirror,
And see the beauty of somebody else?
As we pass in the street, would you smile?

Even if it cracks your face.

Because those who see the beauty of others,
Are most lovely of all themselves.