Status: Drabble. Could become full out story.
Reflection
one
Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?
As I look in the mirror, I see a stranger screaming in satisfactory of keeping myself prisoner. All those pictures in magazines have got me wishing I was something I’m not. Wearing skirts that cover nothing, shirts so tight I can hardly breath. Platform shoes that make me feel like a classified prostitute. But if this is what is takes to be popular, so be it. Because isn’t that what it’s all about? Who ever has the tightest shirt, shortest skirt is the queen bee? Why do we do this? Has sexual appeal become perfection? My generation has gone to shit and I’m going along with it.
I feel broken and no one can fix me.
I feel foreign in this place called my body.
I feel like an impersonator.
I break the glass.
My hand bleeds.
I cry, bleed and break.
What have I done to myself?
As I look in the mirror, I see a stranger screaming in satisfactory of keeping myself prisoner. All those pictures in magazines have got me wishing I was something I’m not. Wearing skirts that cover nothing, shirts so tight I can hardly breath. Platform shoes that make me feel like a classified prostitute. But if this is what is takes to be popular, so be it. Because isn’t that what it’s all about? Who ever has the tightest shirt, shortest skirt is the queen bee? Why do we do this? Has sexual appeal become perfection? My generation has gone to shit and I’m going along with it.
I feel broken and no one can fix me.
I feel foreign in this place called my body.
I feel like an impersonator.
I break the glass.
My hand bleeds.
I cry, bleed and break.
What have I done to myself?
♠ ♠ ♠
commentinspired by reflection from disney's mulan.