I wonder how long does it take
for the compliments from our mothers
to turn into white noise?
There are days I find myself smiling
at my reflection in the mirror
but even when I try to whisper it out loud,
my mind chokes on the unfathomable thought
that I could somehow find myself beautiful.
And there is no filter for that.

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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