Each morning she would wake up to a dream-
A dream so deluded with perfection
Ball gowns and dainty glass slippers scattered across her boudoir
Alas! It would vanish opening her eyes to the difficulties and the forbidden realities.
She stood in front of the mirror-
Thinking of the norms of beauty
She skipped a heartbeat or two
As the realisation dawned upon her that she was hideous-
Or was it her vision for the eye to be pleased that she fained to redeem with!
Each noon she would come across women-
Frivolous and jittery; dispersed all along in a fashion too random
To her a few were pretty; And a few blatantly ugly.
Each night she would go home
Undressed- standing in front of the mirror yet again
She knew she wasn’t perfect
Analysing herself from head to toe-
She felt captured by her endless flaws
Her expression would shrink to that of personified melancholy
All she wished for was a procrastinated meet with the horrors of the female body.
The Woman I Pretend To Be 