Pretty Girl

Am I a pretty girl?

Because when I look in the mirror I don’t see one. 

I have never been a pretty girl. 


I don’t know. I don’t like what I see. 

Low self esteem. 

No self worth. 

I cannot just cover up with a sweater like someone normal. 

I cannot leave the house without a minimum of five shirts and a sweater. 

Yes, even in summer. 

Am I a pretty girl?

No. Especially not with what’s inside. 

Twisted. Warped. Ugly. 

The things flowing through my mind 

And every second. 

Every day. 

I cannot do anything to stop it. 

I cannot make the disgusting black mass that is my soul beautiful. 

It’s never been beautiful. 

So am I a pretty girl? 

Maybe my face isn’t half bad if you were to know what went on in my head. 

Maybe I’m sort of pretty then

This poem is about: 
Our world


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