“pretty” is what scares me,
that I am not, that I’ll never be.
Who asked me to be pretty?
Who looked with disgust upon me?
Why their rights, never questioned I?
Scared in a room, to the mirror a blind eye.
No one watches, but I do so intensely
not he or she, but myself I watch me.
Such that, my views generalize
All those that lift an eye.
A quiver runs down my spine,
Speculation takes its time,
In a second my brain, a message receives
Reason clutches on, but for how long? It frees,
Echoing my self disgust, my eyesight blurs,
All different perspectives, in mine it merges.
The Brain, Heart, Lungs all aligned,
Fight against me, for I abuse them and their pride.
I feel like a hopeless cause,
“Look wretch, even thy body betrays thee now”
Sharp, Edgy, stinging I need,
From pain I was born, In pain I free.
Note: This is a part of a small string of images I am planning to bring together. This in itself might be complete yet, In a broader aspect is still incomplete, for I shall write more perspectives.