I look in the mirror and face a nightmare.

With broken-out skin and un-ruly hair

And an overweight body, with clothes much too tight.

Ignoring the fact that nothing fits right.

I do my best to make this thought go away.

I've spent lots of time feeling this way.

It gets easier as years go by.

By now, I have no tears left to cry.

Fighting the saddness, I go to the table,

To mask all the ugly as much as I'm able.

I slather my face with the powders and creams

With applicators ripping apart at the seams.

I try hard to smile, to mask all the hurt.

It's not very pretty, but I guess that it works.

No one knows that I can really see

What they're thinking when they're looking at me.

When they look my direction, then stare the other way,

When they won't give me a smile or the time of day.

They think I don't know what they're thinking.  I do.

I just want to ask them, "What have I done to you?"

But I can't ask them this, they won't understand.

They'll just wave it off with a flick of their hand.

Then later they'll laugh with their friends and say,

"You won't believe what happened today."

Then they'll mock what was said, and the "fat girl" that said it.

And within a few days, they will soon forget it.

But I never will... never in my life.

It will be a memory as sharp as a knife.

Respect other people, in all you say and do.

Because you may not remember them, but they'll definitely remember you.