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.
This battle is daily,
victories without peace.
I'm told I should be beautiful,
people see it in my eyes,
but this unending war is disgracing me.