Beautiful Imperfection

I stand in front of the mirror

And see Quasimodo staring back at me.

Is that really me?

Am I really that deformed,

That hideous?

“At least you have

An ‘awesome’ personality,”

I hiss sarcastically at my reflection.

 

My eyes trace up and down

The blob of creature before me.

I want to throw up

At the vile sight.

No wonder nobody likes me.

 

In a flurry of rage

I swing my fist at the mirror

And watch as shards of glass

Fall to the ground.

Facing the new reflection,

The image of horror distorted,

I see my eyes amongst the cracks;

Those blue-green eyes

So full of pain and anger.

They shine back at me,

Glistening with tears.

There must be something

Desirable about me,

Something someone will want.

 

Not being able

To take my eyes off

The cracked, distorted,

Image in the reflection,

I see the ‘beauty’

As never seen before.

I guess I now understand

That this imperfect picture before me,

Is the beauty I hide from,

The beauty no one cares to see…

 

Copyright©JosieWentzel26February2008

 

Reviews

[a Messenger]

Very well written, but why would you say such things about yourself?
At least you found some beauty by the last lines. Beautifully written with a lot of pain apparent.