Where We Are Blind
Dawg
I look into the mirror
and the reflection reveals every flaw.
Each imperfection glaring back,
an unending draw.
To meet the gaze of others
I must adopt their view,
conceal my true self
beneath a front so askew.
Why does it matter
what my jeans’ size displays?
In the crowd, does anyone truly care
about this charade?
Hours spent on makeup,
another hour on my attire,
just to meet strangers’ eyes,
to fuel their shallow fire.
Why can’t you see
the person I truly am?
Why is it so hard
to understand?
Your rigid views of beauty
shape how you see the world,
turning innocence into something cold.
Sometimes I wish we could discover
a place where sight is lost
and hearts recover.
Are we really so alone in this endless run —
struggling daily to be ourselves
despite the shame?
A decade from now,
will these concerns still persist?
Why do we sabotage ourselves
for a moment that won’t exist?
Do others truly notice,
or is it just conformity?
How can one judge me
without knowing who I am?
Grant me strength tonight
so I can firmly stand.
Sometimes I wish we could discover
a place where sight is lost
and hearts recover.