I gaze into the reflection of myself within the mirror. I try to imagine myself as one of the stunning models you see on TV. But I look up and the first thing I see is how hideous I really am. No makeup or plastic surgery could change that. It's my past that makes me the way I am. My ugly scars exposed to the world. Scars that cannot be disguised. They say "scars help you discover how strong you truly are" however being strong would be defined as taking it on like a man but instead I silently cried beneath my breath taking every anger and emotion out on my body. Using sharp objects to reunite with my skin. The way my blood trickled down from my arms to my wrist, my thighs to my ankles; I felt understood as if all my hatred had flowed with my blood leaving my skin ripped apart. I look at the mirror again and I couldn't help but stand their in discomfort of myself. I am a threat to my own heart. My own pleasure is the soreness of my wounds. There was no peace that lived inside of me, only the ache of my body that lives among me. I struggled but like joker I smiled. If anything my mirror should be a reflection of my heart; shattered. But instead the only broken piece of the mirror... Is when I'm standing right in front of it.
