What Am I?


I am dark eye circles.

I am nothing but gross, winter skin tapered onto a bored face.

I am yellowed teeth, and thanks to dad, hideous manbrows.

I am dull, shine-less hair, ridded of colors other than horrifically plain brown.

 I am…This.

“It’s what’s inside that counts”, states the platinum blonde boasting perfectly symmetrical eyeliner.

I am fat in the wrong places, but never skinny in the right ones.

I am a mirror’s worst nightmare.

How sad.

I playfully smile as more poetic thoughts cross my mind.

I am severe crow’s feet at seventeen.

Too many; smiling takes its toll.

I am horrendous bruises from volleyball, the sport I know.

I am broken, dead hair from National Honor Society, volunteering to help the community I hold dear.

I am scattered, protruding acne scars, from my stage makeup, the reminder of the applause I adore.

I am dark circles from hard work, being myself of which I love.

I am…Me. 

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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