Light hitting her face on the glass, 
This little mirror showing one lass.

The ugly duckling not near a swan. 
Nothing you would lay hands on.

What she views she hates, 
For she is the one cursed with this face.

If you were to see, to cast an eye, 
would you mutter bye before saying hi.

 For in this mirror I look, 
looking at the tattered cover of my book.

Not interesting, a bit of a bore, 
pages ripped out and thrown on the floor.

Make-up all gone and showing the truth, 
a disturbing sight even in youth.

Her confidence a lie. 
An person projected, 
for you and I. 
but not respected.

Too skinny, to, too fat in the blink of an eye. 
Just leave me alone to crawl up and die.

A moment on your lips, forever in my mind. 
I’m neither deaf nor completely blind.

But why such hate that fuels my own. 
Am I to become your stepping stone.

A good day comes and compliments too. 
But can I believe them? Are they true?

Sniggers blast open my bubble. 
White tipped knuckles through the struggle.

Each to their own, or so they say, 
Patiently waiting for their own day.

The day love comes in and ends the pain. 
When happiness comes to start its reign.

Like lightning it could strike, 
hard and fast 
but can it stay dream like, 
can it last?

But what about the gentle increasing breeze 
Can it still make us melt at the knees?

But what ‘til then.

What can there be.

Just me, sitting with a pen.
 
Writing my plea.