READ NOTES AND CREDITS FIRST.. As I look in the mirror, instead of seeing the beauty others saw, I only saw the imperfections. Like a pig with lipstick, I looked wrong. I stuck out like a sore thumb; different from the other girls at my school. Short hair as I thought it would be easier to tame, pale yellow teeth from all the years of struggling to take care of myself properly, acne that I’ve given up on trying to subjugate, old scars on my body I hide with shame. Every-time I look at pictures of women on social media, it brings out the worst in me. ‘Even if I tried to take a picture, I would need filters or my hand covering half of my face to hide how UGLY I am.’ I utter under my breath, tears stinging the rim of my eyes. At school, I stare at everyone else, all dolled up and effortlessly gorgeous. I’d given up on trying to feel pretty long ago, knowing that it would be no use. The constant barrage of names didn't help, and 'ugly' became my internalized truth. I obscure my frame with baggy clothes, using 'pride' and 'confidence' as armor to mask my true feelings; every whispered remark makes me want to retreat into my fantasies. At least I could be who I wanted to be in my mind. I went to music and my imagination for comfort. I never strayed too far from my headphones, treating them like a lifeline to a world where I had a voice and control. As I enter my room, I slump to my knees in front of my cracked mirror, frantically grabbing my makeup. I smeared on my lipstick and splotched on my eyeshadow, trying anything to cover my real face. I sob, a weak smile on my face. Why can’t I look like them, why can’t I be like THEM, I think to myself as I scratch at my skin. I sit there, chest heaving as I stare at myself. I look horrible. I sigh, wiping my tears away. At least something else will help, I say to myself as I pick up my thumbtack.
Not our best poem. But I don't care. Implied self mutilation is mentioned in this poem. Click off if needed. Thank you.
