There is a girl who I hate.
There is a girl who has blue eyes.
There is a girl who has blonde hair.
There is only one person I hold this hate for.
And that girl is the girl in the mirror.
The one who everyone thinks is perfect.
When she herself doesn't even think she is.
She asks herself why?
She asks them that too.
And still not an answer she wants to hear is told to her.
She tells herself she is not pretty.
She asks and they tell.
They tell nothing but lies.
Lies they think they can say and not have her get hurt.
The truth she knows.
The simple answer might hurt but,
really why not have the truth instead of another lie.
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Comments about this poem (A Girl by Kelsea Osterman )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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