Staring at your reflection
Pointing out your imperfections
Not smiling but riling yourself up
The thoughts inside your head
Should be good but instead...
There's a blade. It made things hard.
Now you're glancing at those imperfections
Instead of dancing with your reflection.
Your beauty is your “duty”
But you cut because you were called at mutt.
At a sound in the kitchen, you raise it up.
Did I mention?
You were never alone.
He called you amazing but instead, you were raising
The blade that made it through.
Who could of guessed, you?
With a shout and a holler
There's no doubt... You couldn't get out.
You are His, A beautiful creation,
Made from His mind eye.
No more torment, that’s dormant.