The "Nice Girl"

Despite all the mirrors I've walked past,

I could never see myself

When my finger touched the reflection, 

Printless marks left the glass

A fragment of unimportant dust

The loudest whisper you never heard

Blended in a crowded sea

Like a watercolor painting

An imperfect stroke

That no one noticed

Born with a name that'd vanish into thin air 

Amongst the few lips that uttered it

Typical girl,

Brown eyes, brown hair

If you'd turn around

You'd never notice

She was never actually there

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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