Young Gun

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Round face, pointy eyes,

dark brown hair, no disguise.

A quarter Chinese isn't too much,

but I think it is enough to count.

 

Of course, that probably doesn't

mean too much to you people,

but I don't really care.

Freckles make a moon on my face,

and my light brown eyes are uneven too,

even though they are even more pretty

with my crooked sly smile

that looks like I stole something important

and ate it.

 

But there is no denying it,

every day I come to see myself in the mirror,

when I wake up every morning,

with pimples on all sides

and my always baggy, tired eyes,

and frizzy hair that puffs on one hemisphere of my head,

you all probably think that I am ashamed.

 

I think that I am the most beautiful girl that I know.

And that will always be final. 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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