Monday, January 18, 2016

Not on sale.

It was in the littlest things,
That she learned,
She was worth,
More then selling on sale,
See she had thought,
For years,
Even decades,
That she needed,
To give people a discount,
Or something for free,
In order to make her,
Worth something,
To anyone,
Yet she had not ever,
Thought of it before,
As if she where a person,
A someone as well,
She just thought of herself,
As an object,
And that in truth,
Was the only reason,
Why she got used,
Even abused,
Because of the perspective,
She had on herself,
Once she'd looked in the mirror,
Saw that smile,
She'd been hiding away,
Behind secrets and regrets,
She'd knew,
She was worth too much,
To be laying in display,
For sale,
She was not a something to be used,
She was a piece of art,
Not just any but,
The masterpiece,
Of her own live.

For the first time,
In years,
She looked at herself,
As she was a peacock,
Laughing at the image,
In the mirror,
Realising,
It was time,
To live. 



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