The Enemy. She stands in front of me, everyday, staring at me through the mirror. She points out every little flaw that I hate, and everything I haven't noticed before, but now I cannot appreciate Anything. "Your hair," she says, "is a mess." Your weight, that needs to be less." Your nose is ugly and long." But my friends say there's nothing wrong. "They're lying," she says, "they don't care. They think that you're being unfair. You're selfish, an attention seeker. They comfort you, because you are weaker." I glare back at her, but know she is right. And she knows, there's no point to fight. She's already won, That girl is gone, The one who was confident, And pretty, And popular, Is nothing, Nobody, A goner.
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