The Glass
They pose ideals of perfectionism,
Which quickly became my critcism
They preach of beauty of this and not yours,
Yet this is what I believed as I grew
Her beauty: a dream
Her figure: extreme
Her skin was sublime
But me? I had none,
it was such a crime
I study the glass and utterly despise,
"Why can't I be her?" I say with tearful eyes
Eight years of struggle and I cannot believe,
A tumultuous time it was indeed
I withered away in turn for beauty,
I should have embraced myself though, truly
The love for thyself is a love you need,
So take care of yourself, exude happiness, and you will be freed