Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2020
The mirror wavers,
I see a blurry image
I want to touch her,
to change her
A tear runs down her face,
as she returns to my mind, her place.

I look down, ashamed,
ashamed of my own flesh
Disgusted at myself,
hating my body's existence
Perfection is my aim,
the product of my shame.

When will I become what I want,
what they want, what they must have
Will I become noticed? Loved?
Will they see me as my dream?
I cry when I ask why,
why must my spirit die?

I try to reach her,
try to save her
But she won't hear a word,
and I lose hope as she slips away
When the strips run crimson on her wrist,
I'll know it was I do did assist.

When I look for her, she is gone,
but when I don't, she's there
Saying things to my mind,
Things I don't want to hear.

Because if she only loved herself,
if I loved me for me
That small, sad girl inside my head,
would gently cease to be.
Written by
Tara  F/Nottingham
   Fredy Sanchez
Please log in to view and add comments on poems