Beautiful
I look in the mirror
and know I should see beautiful,
but my beauty is covered by the red stains on my face.
I look down at my hands,
hoping they will tell me what caused this;
my blood stained hands display the battle I've been in.
Bruised knuckles,
black eyes,
broken bones.
This battle is daily,
unrelenting,
victories without peace.
I'm told I should be beautiful,
people see it in my eyes,
but this unending war is disgracing me.
Copyright © Louise Picek | Year Posted 2009
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment