I don't feel pretty.
I do not see the stars in my eyes like you do, glistening in the morning light.
I do not feel the silk that is my skin that you trace with your fingers as we lie in bed.
I do not appreciate the feel of my hair between your fingers the same way you do.
I do not hear the music of my laughter that rings through the air when you tell one of your corny jokes.
No, I don't feel very pretty;
But in your eyes? God, I know I'm beautiful.
YOU ARE READING
A Teen Finally Healing
PoetryI spent most of my teen years fighting depression and trying to get better and ultimately failing. Now at nineteen only months before my twentieth birthday, I have finally learned how to heal and grow and move on. Here's a collection born from these...
