Would I like my face?
If it belonged to someone else?
I didn't see it in the mirror when I wake,
or spend time listing its faults?
If that person was more confident,
would I admire their features?
Would they be capable of a genial smile,
endearing to all listeners?
Could I learn to love my face,
if it sat on different shoulders?
They say that beauty lies in
the eye of the beholder.
Or is that girl inside me?
Buried, buried deep,
slumbering in the dark where the prick of spindle words put her to sleep?
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