I stand before the mirror
And all I see is an error
A bloody X across my being
Telling me this ain’t worth seeing.
I push myself into a corner
Cloaked like a mourner
I will not be your resurrection
Of a flawless daughter of society
I cannot be your imagination
Of proper propriety
Instead I shall seek perfection
In my own anxiety.
I am the dust beneath your feet
Aiding in your goal to meet
With cold hands a cobalt sheet
You are finally seeing.
This form was not manufactured for lusting.
This flesh was sculpted for trusting.
Maybe it is time we consider readjusting
Who we consider worth being.