Myself

October 21, 2015

On some rare days,

I gaze in the mirror, expecting the image to be clearer.

As I continue on gazing,

My imperfections come out blazing.

Littered on my face are brown freckles, dotted,

As if they were somehow just randomly plotted.

My hair lays in a jumbled mess of frizz,

Reminding me of some unfinished algebra ll quiz.

My lips begin to form a wrinkled frown,

So miserable a whole town it could bring down.

I look at the expression on my face, it is so sour

It could even kill a blooming flower.

Today my heart is cold,

Left to deal with all of my worries that are untold.

I hate looking in the mirror on these days,

For my imperfections make a list as long as one of my English essays.

Then, there are days,

When I peer in the mirror in amaze.

I look down at my two feet,

And think that maybe one day I’ll walk on Wall Street.

Next I glace down at my two calloused hands,

And imagine what I can do with them…I begin to make plans.

I look at my pearly-white smile,

As it portrays my artistic style.

I glance at my pale blue eyes,

Surprisingly they look so wise.

Caressing my face is my hair,

Falling in wavy locks as weightless as air.

I reflect on my caring heart,

To me it is as beautiful as abstract art.

I love looking in the mirror on these days,

For I feel as beautiful as a poetic phrase.

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