she looks in the mirror.

her fingers trace her unwanted body on the cold glass.

it looks back with shame.

trying to fit a mold that is unobtainable,

but she just wants to be beautiful

like what you see in the magazines.

the acrid smell of plastic reminds her of everything she isn’t.

but what she doesn’t know,

is that she is perfect in every way.

she goes unnoticed.

she feels disgraced.

jeers of the popular girls reverberate;

she can almost taste their discontent.

so she begins to starve herself.

a self-inflicted torment

based on a notion imposed by society

that beauty is pain.

i see her trying so hard

to become another person,

but that someone else

is not whom i fell in love with.

why can’t she see

that the mirror she is looking in

is cracked.

i look at her,

and i see nothing but perfection.

please,

don’t begin to crack too.