“Mirror, mirror, tell me quick
Are my thighs too big, too thick?
Foundation seems a slight bit off
At my pimples, will they scoff?
“Oh mirror dear, what DO you think?
My blush, is it too dark? Too pink?
Mascara’s smudged, it does appear
Please, dispel my childish fears
“Will they like my frilly shirt?
Is it much too short, this skirt?
Is my style the latest thing?
Do I have on too much bling?”
Soul devoured by people’s whims
A desperate wish to be seen by him
But her efforts go unnoticed by most
She’ll never escape her lowly post
The mirror weeps to see her doubt
This girl so beautiful, inside and out
Every morn she attempts to show
The girl this image, so that she’ll know
It’s not enough; it never will be
To stop the girl who makes herself bleed
One night, she takes a knife from the shelf
Destroys the mirror, then herself
In each shattered shard’s a tear
For the girl that everyone thought was queer
The angels cry as her cheeks they kiss
And welcome a new soul into their midst
© Vicky Morrison