Pimples

The mirror stands cracked, Neglected at the corner, The broken glass wearing a coat, Of a fine film of dust. She no longer dares… To look, nor does she care. Her face, heart shaped, Her eyes, bright and brown Her skin a light shade of chocolate, Her hands gently as if afraid, run down her face, As if in fear they will hurt her skin. Her face is rough, Like the plains in the barren quarry, Gingerly she touches each part, The tears fall no more, It’s part of her this skin That strives to bring her loads of pain. She walks the streets head held high, She no longer cowers, She stands straight and tall Her heart threatens to tremble As her peers point and giggle, She can hear their words, Shooting daggers into her heart, “Look at her, look at her skin! Can’t she do something, Aaargh some people! I just lost my appetite nkt” A sad smile curls her lips, She no longer pouts, She knows she has done her best The medicines, the creams, the ointments Washed with peroxide but no, no change Her skin remains stubborn So she munches on, smiling to herself She had a choice to live happy or in misery She choose to happiness even the way she is.