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Mirror

I wish I was enough. Pretty. Without a face of dishevelled acne scars.
I wish I was enough. Believing I’m beautiful is hard
because every day in my head, it’s screaming I’m ugly.
My heart just cracks more while it bleeds love sadly
just not to the outside aesthetics it belongs to
not to the mind that it belongs to.
They say the prettiest smiles have felt the most pain
that they’ve lost more than they had ever gained
and that’s what makes them beautiful; wisdom.
Yet I’m haunted with memory depriving me of freedom.
They say the most beautiful eyes have shed the most tears
but I try my hardest to not give myself time to feel.
Try not to remember any of my fears
as I silently mentally break down and kneel
at what’s left of me.
The least of me.
And that’s what’s in the mirror.

I wrote this aged 16 years old. 

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