I hate that she can’t see any more.
That her vision has gone black.
She can’t see how beautiful she is through the veil of self-consciousness,
that shrouds her like fog.
I wish she would take my hand, for once, and let me lead her through the swamp of self-doubt,
past the monster she thinks she can see in the mirror.
To a lush oasis called Perfection.
If she’d take my hand just once,
I’d show her just how to walk on quicksand without sinking below the surface.
How to go from “ugly” to “beautiful” without the aid of pain.
I wish she’d take my hand, for once, and let me be her guide.
If only
just once.