Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall

I look at the girl,
Hate what I see.
A plain face stares back,
Impossible to call pretty.
The worse part about this girl is,
This girl is me.

I try to steady the eyeliner,
Held in a shaky hand.
I lather on the makeup,
So they can’t see the real me.
The girl staring back from the mirror could pass for pretty,
But she looks nothing like the real me.

I walk out of the house that day,
Finally feeling somewhat pretty.
I refuse to look in the mirror,
Don’t want to break the illusion that I am beautiful.
A single glance could shatter the feeling,
Just the sight of my face could break the confidence I feel for once.

It’s so hard,
We live in a society of mirrors.
We’re so ruled by looks,
Out casting anyone who’s different.
We’re controlled by appearances,
Shallow and vain as a whole.

Everyone claims I’m pretty,
Tells me how gorgeous I am,
And wonders how I can’t see it.
I’m wondering what they could possibly see,
Because I certainly don’t feel pretty,
I’m definitely not gorgeous.

So, mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who’s the fairest of them all?
And all my life I’ve been told, “My dear girl,
I cannot lie.
You’re not the fairest,
You’re not even fair at all.”