She stood still, staring at herself in her mirror.
She saw beauty but an unsure and insecure demeanor.
She wanted something; she wasn’t sure what.
She wanted to be a lot of things but of patience, she didn’t have a lot.
She wanted to settle for self hatred but, she loved herself too much.
Not enough to treat herself or be treated well, but enough to clutch.
Enough to hold on tight till the end; to hang in there.
She didn’t want to be in front of her mirror, she wanted to be everywhere.
She wanted to love but she couldn’t.
She wanted to be loved, but they wouldn’t.
Confusion ate her up. She didn’t know who or what she was.
She felt more insecure; all she could see was her flaws.
If only she could at least know herself or know her standards,
she thought, life would feel beautiful, even with all its hazards.
She wanted to breathe and relax but nothing felt right.
She wanted to move and scream and jump but her skin felt tight.
She wants to be something or someone she can never be.
She doesn’t want to be or accept who she is. She doesn’t want to be me.