Recurring Thoughts
She stood there silent.
Observing herself and her thoughts.
“Is this real? Is this pretend?
Should I be this distraught?”
She see’s herself, flaws and all,
and she wants to accept it,
every single bit of it.
But she can’t.
Somewhere deep within,
stirring up the bad,
the disgust inside of her,
was the thought that she was forgettable.
Beauty was untreatable,
makeup was just art.
Her face would be the canvas
but nothing seemed to jump out,
the observers would simply forget,
and pass on by to the next piece.
A beauty compared to all.
So as she stood there,
she let a little of herself go.
unraveling her features,
cursing them as she wrote.
“My face, my eyes,
my nose, my clothes,
my hair, my chest, my thighs.
My hands to my toes, my ears and my lips,
I tried to forget, I tried.
Imperfection is known,
and no doubt has grown,
and this I will always despise.”
She finished her thoughts,
closed her book and her eyes.
Took one big deep breath,
and let the pain subside.
And she put herself to bed,
as she did every time,
for these recurring thoughts
would always be in mind.
