Inner Struggles

Her eyes speak of defeat as she steps out of the shower.
She wraps her towel ever so tightly around her frail frame.
Looking into the mirror with a face of utter disgust,
she smiles and realizes she can no longer fool herself.

(Her eyes speak of defeat,
of the battles she’s lost within herself.)

The towel once wrapped securely around her now falls,
revealing her imperfections.
She notices everything wrong with her,
too much fat here, not enough muscle there.

“Who am I?” she whispers to herself,
“Why can’t I be beautiful?”
Standing there she is vulnerable,
she has no protection.

(Protection against herself,
she is her own toughest critic.)

She sucks her breath in and stands tall,
glances over at the mirror,
still pointing out her flaws.

(Images of beauty race through her mind,
those society has deemed exquisite.)

“I want to be like them!” she hears echoing in her mind.
A silent tear streams down her pale face,
a tear that speaks volumes.

(The tear speaks of belittlement and misconceptions,
an anguish no one knows.)

Slowly she dresses herself,
wipes the solitary tear from her face.
Looks once more in the mirror,
prepares herself for what’s to come,
walks out the door,
smiling as though about her
figure she does not care.