how do i love me?
to find one way would be a blessing,
for what i am left with now is nothing but a curse.
this mirror in its perfected frame stands before me,
arrogantly scoffing at the irony of it all: its beauty surpasses mine by far.



what a thought…

that even the shell of this silent, soulless object is more radiant than me,
and between its walls i see a girl:
she is only a crude reminder of what i already know.
the people, all those people who strive to claim my love,
they all tell me that i shine—


a beacon light to all i meet.

i say thank you with illusory gratitude,
but in my head i laugh with a bitter ring;
shattered glass would do me a better justice.
i know they lie—that is what real friends do, after all.


a rose is beautiful, just not me.

the wench in that window looks back at me;
she is tattered and broken, homely and worn.




no wonder in her petals,

no beauty in that deadened bud.







i
cannot see past those ugly thorns.

how could i love me?
that hideous figure in the mirror,
how cruel her smile is—
how heartless her ivy eyes pierce my soul.

she’ll never let me find one way.