Poetry - Complex

Complex
never expect
me to be a perfect image-
one of myself, or one of another.

for as the story always goes,
i'm never
to complete my own story,
for self depreciation ruins all,
everything..
i'll never fill my surreal vision
of that goddess-like woman.


the whole world, always driving forward,
endless with faces, names..
endless bodies, personalities, spirts..

is it not simple to easily feel so lost?
to feel so very replacable-
is it not natural to feel passed over,
when there are so many other willing
hearts, with their promising smiles,
eyes glittering and full..
capturing that one fateful glance
from a stranger..
but the stranger was mine
once upon a time.

always another with a prettier smile,
prettier face, prettier hair, prettier body.
always another there with open arms,
to be filled with what was once mine.

sinking into my stomach,
this horrible self image
is what eats away at my mind-
and despite my deep certainty
that everyone must be different,
that everyone has a kind..
i find myself struggling
just to be happy with
myself.