By Amanda Kinsey • Monmouth Academy

I feel so incomplete.

But I’m supposed to be the girl who has everything.

I can’t help feeling that I’m in the passenger’s seat

In the car that’s my life.

You don’t help,

Push me aside when I try to reach you most.

Pretty images

And blinding smiles.

All fake today,

All fake everyday.

I’m a master of illusions,

See how I pulled the wool over your eyes?

Pulled it off and you still don’t see me in my cracked frame.

Seems you like cover better.

So out of control.

Listen to me whine about my perfect life.

Look closer,

There’s a chip in the rim.

So small,

But still the catalyst to full destruction of the smooth surface.

I cry out.

Too bad functional is ignored.

Walk down the runway,

I have a limp,

You don’t notice.

You think you know me.

Another hat trick I pulled.

It worked well.

Too well in fact.

Now I can’t escape.

Poor perfect girl.

Truly I’m not,

Imperfections hidden by my magic concealer.

I’m no idol,

Nothing to be admired.

I’m just an image set in your mind.

I’m incomplete perfection.