The "Nice Girl"
Despite all the mirrors I've walked past,
I could never see myself
When my finger touched the reflection,
Printless marks left the glass
A fragment of unimportant dust
The loudest whisper you never heard
Blended in a crowded sea
Like a watercolor painting
An imperfect stroke
That no one noticed
Born with a name that'd vanish into thin air
Amongst the few lips that uttered it
Typical girl,
Brown eyes, brown hair
If you'd turn around
You'd never notice
She was never actually there
This poem is about:
Me
Our world
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