I am often told that I am lovely.
Yet, whenever I take a look at myself in the mirror,
I only see the blemishes and dark spots on my face,
the deep dark circles under my eyes,
the thick and unruly hair
and pale lips.

I would touch my skin while I watch
myself in the mirror.
I would let my fingers linger on my arms down to
my hands and feel that my rough palms are not meant to
hold anyone’s hands.
Because in the first place,
who would?
Then, I would stare at the green veins crawling like
roots at the back of my hand, feeling a little displeased.

I would dare not to show my teeth while I laugh
and would always keep it hidden behind a silver wire.
Who would even dare kiss those
lips and its cracks where tears sink through,
because isn’t it a little salty for someone to taste
such lips?
And who even want salty when the sweetness of
sugar is yearned?

Staring at the mirror I would
watch myself sip through a glass of
sweet red wine.
And who would want to taste an intoxicated being,
when sweetness only masks the bitterness of wine?

Honestly,
I think we can all agree that beauty goes way
more than skin deep.
Yet,
I only want myself naked
when it’s dark.
Without the lights.
When it’s dark.