Some slam poetry I wrote today. Yes, it was a journal prompt in English 4 IB. The prompt was something close to "When is it hardest to look at yourself in the mirror?"...

of what I had said or done,
or eaten (Well, not me).

Am I imperfect?
Small, defenseless--
increased potential for rape/mugging/violent crime (of some kind).
Am I a target?

Do I need a haircut?
I can't really tell.
Surely, it's shorter than it's been before.
The least of my worries.

Maybe my eyes are the wrong color.
Maybe my ears are the wrong shape.
I won't be on the cover of Rolling Stone--
maybe Time or Newsweek.
Better yet, Forbes.

Physical perfection--
attained only in Hollywood,
as seen on television,
now at a new low price.

Am I imperfect?
My mom thinks so.