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Poem

I look at my reflection wondering if that’s me?
I look at those photos stuck with Prestik on the white walls of my bedroom, and ask myself, is that me? 

I stand in front of a mirror for hours, trying to figure out when I turned into such a sickening piece of flesh. 
Through my eyes I see nothing but the hideous features and the five hundred and one flaws that have taken over my entire human body, 
but through someone else's eyes those flaws are invisible,
and those hideous features, are the prettiest they have ever seen.

Maybe it’s not through your own eyes that you realize your true beauty, 
but the way another looks, and sees the beauty that you cannot see.

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