Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Sometimes I look in the mirror,  praying that I won't see a reflection.

 Hoping to just hide, from my wicked, hungry, eyes, who only see imperfection.

society's vision of perfection have opened my eyes, and set an unreachable goal.

Something completely out of my control.

Unfilled Expectations, leaking through.

Marking my body like a disfigured tattoo.

The once lingering whispers instead scream, and roar. 

My unsatisfied eyes demands now impossible to ignore.

Because with eyes that judge, but cannot see.

I can never accept myself, and finally be free. 


The End

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