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-
