Somewhere along the way you imagined a girl who had something that you did not, and since then, you've used every collected flaw that has ever been deemed repulsive to form her like a clay sculpture into the ideal model of perfection. With every criticism, this figure has been torn apart and mercilessly mutilated only to be reassembled into what is left of your broken idea of beauty. Somewhere along the way you lost hold of the potential beauty instilled in every living creature at the moment of conception, allowing the truth to be carelessly drowned like a message written inside of a bottle and tossed out into the abyss of scrutiny and false credentials. Your rights to think and act like a beautiful individual have been robbed from your very self, and thus, replaced with countless amounts of diet pills and expensive eyeliner. And so you find yourself here once again, surrounded by every part of you that you've been taught to hate, calling from the depths of your true self - begging, pleading to be someone or something else because who could possibly love the you that you've so desperately been hiding? So you reach the point where you need to confront the you that loves you, but you can't find her. She is standing, conflicted, in front of the ice cold barrier that is the mirror; the mirror that refuses to let her see the small acts of selflessness that float like fallen petals from the very depths of her blooming heart. It which fails to let her see the way her eyes sparkle with glittery fascination when she talks about her the things she loves. It it does not allow her a glimpse at the warmth that floods the hearts of those whose lives she has painted with her colorful psyche. The mirror does not reflect her. It hides her. It conceals her from her soul. Her beautiful soul. It denies her the right to love the miracle of her very existence. And who do we have to blame?