I was asked what my biggest fear was—
I wasn’t quite sure.
But now I am—
It’s the mirror.
I’m staring at it right now,
looking into my eyes.
I wish they were like hers—
ocean blue,
wide,
captivating,
the type men lose themselves in.
But they’re not.
They’re thin,
like lines on a pale page,
ugly, like a blobfish’s eyes,
nothing like hers.
I wonder how I can see through them,
as I try to spot my eyelashes—
small, like an ant’s legs,
uneven, like the teeth of an old comb,
nothing like hers.
I wish they were long,
curled, and beautiful.
I don’t like the mirror,
but I’m staring at it now.
At my old, crooked nose,
It’s nothing like hers—
not perfectly sized,
not gently curved,
not symmetrical or beautiful.
Mine is long,
like Pinocchio’s,
crooked, like a witch’s,
and ugly, like the rest of my reflection.
So no,
I don’t like the mirror,
because it shows what I hate most—
myself,
my ugly reflection,
nothing like hers.
aaa this was beautiful!! i liked the theme of comparison more than anything else tysm for sending this to me :))))