I Am Perfect

A Poland poem.

I am perfect,

Yes I am.

I'm as delicate,

As a lamb.

I have porcelain skin,

Like a doll,

Hiding the cracks,

From all my falls.

My eyes are deep,

A graceful emerald green.

It is the very definition,

Of the beautiful me.

I twist my lips into a smile,

As I gaze into the mirror.

I repeat I am pretty,

So I can finally hear.

No imperfections,

Blemish my face,

And I dress myself,

Head to toe in lace.

I look like a ghost,

Very pretty without any help.

That's because my secret is,

I actually starve myself.

To retain this perfect beauty,

I sacrifice a meal.

I'd rather be perfect,

Than have my belly filled.

I like looking into a mirror,

And seeing a perfect picture.

Uninjured,

Are each of my features.

I'm just like a little doll,

Painted symmetrical in every way,

But on the inside of that doll,

It's just ready to cave.

Beauty is a perfect mask,

That I've come to wear.

Just because of this,

I always receive questioning stares.

But I am perfect.

My beauty is so sheer,

Although I'm rotting on the insides,

It can't be seen through my picture perfect mirror.

Requested by CandyBunnies.

-Soul Spirit-