I am trained in the art of perfection.
I am caught, and taught , my spirit is tamed.
My lungs are constricted my airways maimed.
I read the words, the bold rejection.
I'll make a mask, my greatest confection.
You won't see my flaws for I am ashamed.
That sin isn't mine I must of been framed.
I shake, praying, to pass your inspection.
But isn't it funny, I am amused.
Even with my best, I am not okay.
I'm not surprised only somewhat confused
I hope you see my dilemma someday.
I gave you myself and I was refused.
So why reject my synthetic display.
YOU ARE READING
Becoming Pretty- PoetryPoetry
Sometimes my mind feels like a liquid, and it takes all of my strength so keep it from slipping down the drain. Sometimes it throbs like a a broken bone. Often, my poor brain pulls me in every direction like 1'000 marbles cascading down a flight of...