Looking Glass

Past the looking glass, what is it that makes me special? Does the mass and the masses that weighs me, that torture me, and confine me... make me any less special? The looking glass that I spend my days examining, the tools that measure my weight on the world, are those helping me or destroying me? Am I meant to be skinny, pretty, quirky, funny, and charming? Or am I just meant to be whoever I am? The blurred line that fuzzes the truth, holding me stiff and wary. Which side of this tiny tightrope should I walk on? Should I become 'her'? The person that I want to be, whom I desire I was instead? Is she any more special than I? Am I worthless? Does it only matter that my appearance isn't as fair as hers? My insides slowly rotting while my outer shell cloaking the truth. Every meal I miss causes more blood to drip onto my collar, down to the very floor on which I burden. Why should I exist when it only pains me? The truth that I will *never* be her, that I am also going to stay me. That truth is not the truth I want. If I can't fulfill anything if I won't amount to anything why am I still here? Why am I still in this world that only makes me dread. Why not instead take a knife down that very line in which divides me. Cut through that cloak who was never even me. Show the world my inner self, as they say, "it's the inner part that matters," right? Let the blood gush down as my tears do. Why not just end it all? I'm sure it would be easier than staying here. On the floor, I let out my sorrows, like sparrows who never actually learned to fly, but jump the jump anyways. Clarity rushes through me. Do I deserve to die? Really? I'm sure it'll be easier but am I really straining you that much mother earth? Oh, mother earth. Why did you create me as you did? Just a repulsive speck of filth, soiling your soils. Is it okay if I live on? As myself, not her. Not anyone, no matter what persona people push onto me. Do I deserve to have that freedom? To have the bliss of loving myself? Oh tell me mother earth, as I want to... I want to be free. I want to jump the jump even though I never flew. I want to soar the skies, examine your faces. I feel relieved. Burden slipping away, possibly onto its next victim. My blood and tears mingle. Creating a new substance, a new me.