All I am is a smaller nymphet trapped in the jaws of a creature that really shouldn’t exist but does for that is the sheer irony of everything.
How love is so good and so apparently abundant and yet there is hardly the vestige of its truest form.
How hatred is so frightfully ugly and so apparently difficult to harbor and yet its everywhere.
EVERYWHERE.
In our eyes during the unyielding stare between ourselves and a mirror full of exteriors.
In the bathroom stall of a high school bearing evidence of a pointless modern caste system.
The scrawling of an angry ex girlfriend who is convinced this new girl would be unable to squeeze into the new skinnies she’d bought.
As if that makes her any better, any less domineering and catty and that’s why he left in the first place.
And the question is, who?
Who cleaning the bathrooms overlooks the slander and wrongness, overlooks how revolting someone with some generic name looked the day before and how her hair is too frizzy and how she talks too much and about all the wrong things?
Who overlooked the fact perhaps our mirrors are faulty, belonging in a fun house rather than in our homes, for if what we see is ugly than perhaps the mirror is broken, or perhaps there is the need of a new prescription because there is no such thing as ugly if you’re smiling.
There is not as more perfect union than happiness and beauty, the two are synonymous and are meant to gravitate towards us in our tiny galaxies rid of the beasts and the nit picker, the voice begging for pain and not its own, but yours and mine.
When did you decide for yourself to live this way?