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From Me, Through You, To Me

Poetry By: November
Editorial and opinion



For you if you've ever not liked what you see in the mirror.


Submitted:Sep 4, 2007    Reads: 128    Comments: 2    Likes: 2   


From Me, Through You, To Me

Nothing I've seen is as ugly as
a mirror,
the prisons I see make me sick.
I can't stand to look at
my own reflection, my abhorrent
antithesis of perfection.
That side of me I despise.
Am I a freak on the inside,
or just a freak
on the outside? Once you've learnt
the science of smiling and why
we like what we like, the romance is
gone.
And it's not worth smiling anymore.
Each contraction of the zygomatic major muscle
slashing your flesh like a sythe through fish.
Not worth it. Because for all that I've tried
I still don't know if I'm a freak on the inside
or just a freak
on the outside. And I'm sick of this
mirror, well and truly sick and tired
of that familiar 'funny' freak -
you'd agree
if you could only see -
but if you disagree with me, then
rip out you're eyes
for spreading such lies.
You don't know
what it's like to feel
ugly
all the time.





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