Starry Desolation
All she did was gaze. Gaze at the girl who she thought stood before her, but she questioned what she was seeing. The mirror or herself. She witnessed the cracked fragments of glass puncturing the inner cavities of her pulsating heart, detoxifying the happiness and joy in which once consumed the entirety of her mind, yet saw the jagged crevice created simply with a rubber bristled hairbrush and a sudden strength from a frail and misunderstood girl’s throwing arm. Smudges were in abundance, fogging the identity she had grown accustomed to, and was unwilling to discard of by choice, but the smudges were more than just a barricade to her reflection. Dripping of salty, crystal tears brought along the charcoal liner rimming the eyes she wished to veil from the cruelty she now perceived society to possess, and smeared scarlet lip stick across the translucent forearms she concealed from the sunlight were only a blurred memory of mental hysteria which scarred not only her conscious, but her future self as well. She was a mirror. A mirror of perfection only to be littered with disfigurement which was only seen to the human eye. She became the reflection of the girl she longed to never associate with. A mirror unwanted.
But not even the reflection of disparity could constrain her from the constant numbness her mind indulged in. She longed to emulate the beauty the burning bundle of hot gas in the distance could convey. She loved the stars. The twinkle they gave, contrasting the midnight sky, during an airy November freeze, reminded her of the lost hope that on occasion would surface to the blood shot whites of her eyes, begging to be divulged. A slither of optimism in which turned the outer corners of her lips towards those stars in a manner to show appreciation, and her dimples caved, dust fluttering into the chilly breeze that brush across her freckled cheeks, and cherry red nose. The unique qualities each star possessed comforted the defective soul wrapped upon layers of hand knit wool blankets to ensure a circulation of heat. The idiosyncratic qualities secluded from the wandering eyes of strangers became exuberant under the shadowed gaze from the midnight stars as she felt empathy for those mindlessly gaping upon the beauty held above. She was a star. One of individuality and perceivable beauty, yet allowed the hazy reflection of hate to terminate the new-found thoughts of assurance she briefly perceived. She was the star of despondency.
But not even the reflection of disparity could constrain her from the constant numbness her mind indulged in. She longed to emulate the beauty the burning bundle of hot gas in the distance could convey. She loved the stars. The twinkle they gave, contrasting the midnight sky, during an airy November freeze, reminded her of the lost hope that on occasion would surface to the blood shot whites of her eyes, begging to be divulged. A slither of optimism in which turned the outer corners of her lips towards those stars in a manner to show appreciation, and her dimples caved, dust fluttering into the chilly breeze that brush across her freckled cheeks, and cherry red nose. The unique qualities each star possessed comforted the defective soul wrapped upon layers of hand knit wool blankets to ensure a circulation of heat. The idiosyncratic qualities secluded from the wandering eyes of strangers became exuberant under the shadowed gaze from the midnight stars as she felt empathy for those mindlessly gaping upon the beauty held above. She was a star. One of individuality and perceivable beauty, yet allowed the hazy reflection of hate to terminate the new-found thoughts of assurance she briefly perceived. She was the star of despondency.