I looked at the mirror and screamed...
She looked pretty but I hate her...
I hate that she looked pretty...
I hate that beside her lips cheeks and hair...
You can't read her eyes.
I looked at her body and laughed...
Laughed cause she wanted love...
All she gets is stared of lust.
I hate that she's called sexy not cute...
I hate that she gets all the attention...
But not the heartfelt concerns.
I looked at her and screamed...
I saw her lacerated heart...
The wounds bleed every now & then...
Every time she sees couples holding hands...
She asks me innocently,
What did she do to deserve that?
I spoke to her and cried...
They say hope is what keeps you alive...
Yet every time she wanted bloom...
Every time she was plucked.
Dead petals don't have fragrance of love...
Dead dreams don't thrive ever.
I would say if you ever meet her...
Sit for a while maybe just to babber...
Stay beside you don't need to be her lover.
If you ever meet her ...
Pull her close to hug her...
I promise she is strong...
But love can make her stronger!