I’ve grown numb to beauty
preaching it’s worth from the shallows.

Making a neat fist I shatter
my vanity mirror, watching
the shards fall into non-existence.

Perhaps I’ll start a revolt against
all the mirrors so eager

to define our worth from
one puny reflection given.

Society’s afraid of me telling girls that
I’ve grown numb to beauty.

Perhaps I’ll start a revolt against
my alter ego. Will happily lock
the box myself as I

rise to the sun where I belong,
beautiful in my imperfect skin.