at first i thought that i was perfect

And i’d never need to change my uniqueness that basically makes me the person i thought i’d always be

and then i met her, cute funny popular

then i met him, athletic

and her, beautiful

then him, hilarious

and inspiring

and she is so brilliant

all these people, that are so much better than me

I cannot bear watching something i can’t compare

they tell me i’m pretty, i’m funny, and nice, great at poetry, and smart

but not good enough

staring at yearbook pictures

should be fun not shattering

like you’ll never be her

and we all know that beauty isn’t skin deep

but we are blinded by things we call pretty and perfect

things unbearibly defined by opinion

i wear blinds like scars

all i see when i look into a mirror

into her eyes

they way he looks at her

they way we look at each other shouldn’t be determined by what we see

it should revolve on what lays under

but maybe that just doesn’t matter



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