The Second Me

Down every street,

On every wall,

In every room,

Are windows, mirriors, puddles, and reflection.

I march right by without a look but, sometimes I cant...

Sometimes it pulls me,

Calls to me,

A force not to reckoned with,

And I turn and take a peek at what everyone hates... me

But, it's not me staring back, the face I see is beautiful, it's not... me

Her face is pale like the moon with roses for cheeks,

not too slender not too round.

A brillant blue ocean swims in her eyes,

an ocean that goes on forever. 

A small button for a nose with a tiny point, 

showing her independence.

A small mouth the color of cherry blossoms.

display childish innocence.

Wispy hair surrounds her head like a halo,

the color a dull flame and gold.

A splatter of paint across the bridge that meets her eyes,

just enough to notice.

And once all of this is taken into thought  the face turns to confusion,

the person staring back is me and the taunts in my head return.

There is not beauty here.

The spell is broken and nothing wanted stares back at me.

This poem is about: 
Me

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