Poem; The looking glass
Everyone thought she was ugly,
they told her that every day.
When she walked past the drunks on the corner,
she knew what they were going to say.
They'd stare at her nappy hair, and tawny colored skin.
What a strong little girl to walk silently,
through drugged up, drunken men.
She'd see her reflection in the glass,
ashamed of what she'd see.
High cheekbones on a thin face,
that didn't look as if meant to be.
Then just like a vivid dream,
one day she opened her eyes.
She looked in the mirror and confronted,
many years of embedded lies.
She embraced those power symbols
protruding from her face.
Proud to have that tawny skin
traces of a nomadic race.
Narrow Kalahari eyes that pierced,
eyed the beauty of a spirit made fierce,
inside THAT looking glass.
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