Looking in the mirror before the morning rush
Questioning another’s lust.
Too small to strike any fear in someone
Yet strong enough to evade that someone.
Feeling all your curves and wondering why
You were made a gal and not a guy.
Why is being a gal so hard?
Who says that we need the onlookers eyes
Why must we pay for other’s transgressions
A secret is what we are amongst their lies.
Brushing through your hair
Trying to make yourself less when compared
But never really reaching that goal
It probably wouldn’t matter unless you were real bold.
Wondering what is it you did
Was it in fact your looks
Or was it something more psychological like you read in books.
As you stare at those eyes looking back
You are so lost in the questions that you may lose track
No real answers today, like all the ones before
You just leave your shattered mirror laying on the floor
Who cares anyway it never was inspiring or true
Imagine if you can , if she happened to be you.