What do they see when they look at me,
I can't help but wonder, yet fear what it may be.
Can they see my own pain and uncertainty,
of what to do in this life to be or not be?
Can they see the internal screams and cries from within?
Am I defined by my unforgivable sin?
Can they see the forced smile where it once so easily came?
And the spark of happiness where there had once been a flame?
Can they see that child that scared and alone ?
The one still buried inside from the abandonment it's known?
Is there any good that's able to be seen?
Any part of my slate that still remains clean?
Are the tears that I cry diluted by the blood I had shed?
Is my life undeserving, justice only served if I were dead?
Is my reflection in your eyes similar to that of a mirror?
If so, then all that can be seen is only the exterior.
What I think you see is really how I feel,
Permanent reflections that to me seem all too real.
So when you look at me, judging what you see,
Know that the first to have judged was me.
See all poetry for Jennifer Mercado #74271