I feel the glass slide down my fingers.
Smooth and seamless.
Yet my hands leave a mark.
Like some how a piece of me is left.
It's clear, but I can't see through it.
I can see someone staring back at me.
Bright blue eyes,
Brown hair pulled back,
Some strands hang down framing the face.
Which is white, but not like porcelain.
A few freckles here and there;
Pimples there and there.
Lips plump but a dull red.
The glass reflects
What is shown in its frame.
What I see, I rather shatter the mirror
Because my true beauty comes from my heart.
Those who can't, see what the mirror shines.
Only a meaningless reflection
Hiding who you really are.
So raise your fists!
Shatter the glass!
That echoes what you see.
As worthless and being a nobody,
And show your true beauty.
What is on the inside
Is kind and warm,
Joyful and couragous,
You're not the person in the mirror,
That glass can't tell you who to be.
So what's it going to be?