Girl in the mirror, I know you not. You stare at me, criticizing my weight, outfit, my everything, and I stand there as you break me down. You find my cracks, my weaknesses, and explode them into the harsh lights that frame your cruel face; those bright orbs not hitting your dark eyes.
Stop staring at me.
Don't you think I'm sick of hearing these comments that weigh my mind every time I don't fit in my jeans or my new romper; every time girls tell me how they are hit on when I have never really have been? I'm average, a four, or six at the most. Something I don't need help knowing is fact.
So stop staring.
It's rude to stare. What do you want from me? Can't you see I'm trying to be happy?
Torment someone else!
Just stop staring...
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