A Portrait of Her

I awake in a cold sweat,

Still shaking from dreams long forgotten.

With the sun shining into my dilated pupils,

I am forced fully awake.

I pull myself out of my bed,

With gravity working against me,

Pulling me back down to slumber longer,

But I fight off the force,

And drag myself to the nearest mirror.

Staring myself down, I start off at the top.

The reflective glass shows my worn out hair,

Damaged from past choices and

Hanging down much too far.

With the lightened color slowly fading,

I am reminded why I hate it.

It makes me look like her.

I let my eyes drift down to their copy,

Brown irises surrounding the much darker middle.

My eyelashes are long and nice,

But not nice enough for me.

With one look, I know why I avoid it.

It’s too much like her.

My eyes drop down yet again,

But pass my nose entirely.

I don’t like my nose, but don’t hate it.

I have enough to think about without it.

My eyes meet the sight of my lips.

They are chapped and thin,

Never soft enough for anyone’s liking,

And thin enough to hide.

But that almost makes them better.

They don’t hurt me like her.

Backing up slightly, I see more of myself

And there’s not much to like.

Smallish and petite shoulders,

Sloping down into my lanky arms.

Everything there is wrong.

My shoulders aren’t broad enough

And my arms lack muscle.

It all is too reminiscent of her.

My chest is too heavy with my problems,

Everyday reminding me,

Of her, her, her.

Never giving me a break,

Unless I force it to stop.

Everything here is too harmful,

Keeping her in mind furthers it.

So I turn away from the pain just once.

Closing my eyes and biting my lip

To stop the incoming tears.

I finally can feel at peace

With him standing opposite of me.

Daniel Hagendorf, Grade 10

Creative Writing Major