The Glass reflects upon who i
am. Thoughts and opinions cram
into my soul as i look up at the Cold
brown orbs that stare back at me in
Pain. Smile, stand up straight, this
is the most mechanical phrase. No one sees how Cold
you deeply feel. All they discern is a girl in a Big house.
The glass moves along like a twin. This
Stanger declares itself with My name, in My house.
It mimics my actions yet disregards my emotions that i
desire to show. It desires Perfection, something I am
Not. It offends with the undeniable truth that perfection is a
tale told by the arrogant. A narrative in which society Forces a woman
to believe that she needs to be a Rose in order to be appreciated. The
Glass reflects upon who i am. A bitter sweet
Woman, not perfect, but a simple reflection cast upon society like clouds casted upon flowers.