Through the broken mirror, I see myself.
And wonder what has become of the younger me.
When sleepovers happened every week,
With truth or dare and blond adorees.
We watched Harriet the Spy and ate pizza,
The group of girls and me.
I'm happy that we parted ways,
I've moved on to closer friends.
But there was something less cliche,
When everyone was the same outside,
And struggling to stray...
But I ask myself from this modern me,
How can that be the truth?
Can beauty be only skin deep,
An element of youth?
Surely not, I tell myself.
Because my true idols are
Older and worn with knowledge,
Beauty that cannot be seen from afar.
And today I would look strange,
If the past me took a glance.
For outside I look so tired,
The inside stands no chance.
This is the saga of the estrainged soul,
Worn out well and the one to call,
If ever in need of a curing thought,
For I've seen it all, and for self-expression I've fought.