Sun shining bright through the window's ruby curtains,
She got up.
Hair in disarray,
Face a mess with squinted brown eyes,
She was bare, untouched, raw
A glance at the mirror told her she was perfectly...
The curse of scattered acne laid upon her face,
The unforgivable birthmark split down the middle of her forehead,
Even the fact that her lips were discolored, and she simply seemed unpropotional,
She wished so hard,
Day after day,
Just to be one of them,
The "it" girls.
The girls who had it all, who was never teased about their God-given features.
The girls who could leave their homes and feel absolutely...
One day, she had enough.
Grabbing the mirror by its hinges, she cried...
And she cried for a thousand days and a thousand nights no more.
The last of her tears dropped from her beautiful brown face,
And she gazed into the eyes in the reflection covered by luscious lashes.
That birthmark was a symbol.
Split down the middle of her forehead, it symbolized the fragile line between self-love and hatred.
Her untamed hair became the epitome of au naturale.
Unique lips curved into a graceful smile.
Quietly, ever so gently, so breathed,
"I am real...I am me. I am perfectly flawed."