At night, looking at her own reflection,
She wondered why she was able to see.
She thought, ‘Why am I not up to thee,
Thee, the lord of tremendous beauty?’

She said to herself, why am I not her, but, me?
For the neighbours called her a terrible fish,
Ugly and stinking always, floating and reaching up to the brim of the sea,
For she didn’t have the power to be swimming freely in the saline liquid.

Was it irony she felt when the girl did what she did?
The girl in the mirror, the one whom she would stare at.
Was it agony she felt when the shards, the tears pierced
and engraved markings on her pale cheeks?

She looked and looked,
But one day she found the fault.
What if she broke it?
What if the mirror broke into pieces?

The next day she woke, confident than ever.
She was the fish, the queen.
Aquatic twirled when she ordered.
The shards were left forgotten.

Now I’ll tell you the story of a girl,
Who’d look at the stars everyday,
The moon every night.
Who noticed the scars.

Gazing at them she wonders,
‘I look up at thee, it calms down every grain of my soul,
Your scars are quirky.
I’m an unfinished canvas, and I’m happy with it,
For I am not like any other kind you know.’

Every morning she wonders,
Not a bit reckons about what she used to wonder.
The glass shards gave nothing but scars,
Making her not like any other kind you know.