My reflections stares at me,
The imperfections shooting to my consciousness,
My mind brimming with doubts,
Thoughts that break down my confidence.
I battle them deep down,
Trying to convince myself
That true beauty comes from the choices I make within:
The stories I compose,
The clothes that I dress in,
The streak of tinsel in my hair.
My actions,
My ideas and interests,
Are what shape me,
The real self
That is unique and smart,
And produces plenty of beauty,
No matter how my outside appears,
Or how others perceive me.
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