The mirror
I look fine, bad, pretty.. ugly.
To me I am exceptional.
To me I am a disgrace.
I am the winner of the race.
I cannot keep the pace.
Call me a hero.
Call me a zero.
Don't call my name at all, but watch me dance
So beautifully all the way down the hall.
Where I will crawl,
Into a ball, and maybe die in there.
If it weren't for this mess of my tresses,
That confuse my eyes with lies.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.