The Glass

They pose ideals of perfectionism, Which quickly became my critcism They preach of beauty of this and not yours, Yet this is what I believed as I grew Her beauty: a dream Her figure: extreme Her skin was sublime But me? I had none, it was such a crime I study the glass and utterly despise, "Why can't I be her?" I say with tearful eyes Eight years of struggle and I cannot believe, A tumultuous time it was indeed I withered away in turn for beauty, I should have embraced myself though, truly The love for thyself is a love you need, So take care of yourself, exude happiness, and you will be freed