I stand infront of the mirror,
Is that really me?
Am I realy that hideous?
I realy wonder what people see in me.

I walk back and forth,
My eyes tracing up and down,
It makes me want to throw up at the sight.

Does he loves me, he realy does.
But i cant see why?
I balançoire, swing my wrist at the mirror,
I watch the tiny pieces of glass floating down the ground,
The reflection is long gone.

The horrors still fixed in my mind.
Those horroible baby blue eyes staring back at me,
The anger rises, I can see them still,
Still shining, glisting through the shreds of glass.
On the floor.
It kill me to see.

My eyes glisten with tears.
The imperfections that I will never be able to live with.
He loves my imperfections, he told me.
No bodys perfect.
And I believed him.
I still stare at the broken glass,
I wonder why?
This cracked, distored image in the reflection
It is me?
It's not what I thought it was.


Now I see beauty.
As I've never seen before,
I guess I understand now.
I shouldn't believe someones twisted lies,
But I should believe in this imperfect figure that stands before me.
Me, who else?

Look past the imperfections, and maybe I'll see beauty like everyone else....