Mirror,
You behold all that I do.
Last spring I looked into your face,
Sought for your eyes
And your favour too.

You said that I was the fairest of them all.
A perfect soul packaged in an imperfect world,
With golden brown eyes-
The type that melts rocks.

You found sense in my nonsense.
For solely of importance were the contents,
You wrote my beauty on all the moments,
You loved my strength
And saw through me.

Guess you beheld me too many a times,
That I lost the fire
And became common like sand.
Maybe you became too accustomed to my scent
And my golden brown eyes fell from stars into dust
And my smooth edges bled into rust.

Should I turn my face away?
For when I see you I hear go away
Should I break you into a million pieces?
Maybe when I rebuild you I will hear a new thesis
And not see my weaknesses
And my fault-lines
This scarred face with ugly lines

But I was born a sinner,
Imperfect is the best I can be?
Only your eyes can behold me as perfect,
Since kisses go by favour
And beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.
I have rough edges but a smooth soul.


Scared to look at you next spring-
For when I shall I ask you
Who is the fairest of them all?
It may never be me,
For my body will be flawed,
My kingship outlawed,
A broken record
The imperfect perfect…

05/10/2013 (inspiredinspirationsinc.)