Mirror,mirror?

A poem about the performance of prettiness…

Mirror mirror on the wall,

Do tell me how much more must I fall?

These petty eyes devoid of shine—

Is this my chance to beg at the shrine?

This ugly face of mine,

Is it even worth the borrowed hype?

The persistent ache on my flat bosom—

Please no more flattery of “oh, how awesome.”

These lifeless limbs of mine,

Thinner than a starving spine,

No curves—just edges I possess,

Should I call it a highway none would access?

Pretty? — yeah, I guess they say so,

Just the heart and not the face though.

Is beauty really etched in bone and skin?

Or in the storms someone carries within?

If perfection’s what the world demands,

Then what of trembling, imperfect hands?

Will I ever be enough as I am now?

Or must I break my

self to fit their vow?

~Sambodhita jena