Beautiful Imperfection

I stand in front of the mirror
And see Quasimodo staring back at me.
Is that really me?
Am I really that deformed,
That hideous?
"At least you have
An 'awesome' personality,"
I hiss sarcastically at my reflection.

My eyes trace up and down
The blob of creature before me.
I want to throw up
At the vile sight.
No wonder nobody likes me.

In a flurry of rage
I swing my fist at the mirror
And watch as shards of glass
Fall to the ground.
Facing the new reflection,
The image of horror distorted,
I see my eyes amongst the cracks;
Those blue-green eyes
So full of pain and anger.
They shine back at me,
Glistening with tears.
There must be something
Desirable about me,
Something someone will want.

Not being able
To take my eyes off
The cracked, distorted,
Image in the reflection,
I see the 'beauty'
As never seen before.
I guess I now understand
That this imperfect picture before me,
Is the beauty I hide from,
The beauty no one cares to see...

Copyright©JosieWentzel26February2008