A Flawed Ideal Masking a Flawless Mind

Sitting before a mirror,

I cannot believe my ears.

Held with such esteem, 

these poisonous creeds speed 

into the heart of every soul.

Sickly sweet, 

changing all who seek 

into an ache of a once

admirable goal. 


Frantically sought,

seldom reached,

this ideal we all seek.

Though often praised,

should bear no role in the recognition

of one's soul.

Spiraling out of control,

my beauty often masks the inner workings of

my soul. 

Caustic is the nature of my appearance,

suffocating that which is greater.


My intelligence makes me flawless, 

the innate flaws of my physical beauty 

cannot hope to compete. 

Months did pass 

before I realized that,

contrary to the beauty fever, 

this academic achiever is flawless. 





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