He shuffled to stand in front of the mirror that hung above the sink he once shared with his sister. He gulped when he saw what it reflected. A ridiculously large amount of freckles. Messy ginger hair. Flabby arms. Huge belly. Wimpy glasses. That's all he sees, and that is what he is defined as. The cackling of kids from school started to echo at the back of his mind. "You're so big." "Man, you should be joining the belly-dancing team." Jokes or not, it hurt. Flipping through his sister's old Vogue magazines, all he thought about was the possibility of looking like any one of the models. Looking closely at some of the dog-eared pages, he saw scribbled notes, highlights on texts and circles on details on "How to Look Good", "11 Tips To Get Your Dream Body!" and "So Do You Want To Be A Model?" "Was it all worth it?" he muttered. He thought of his sister lying in her coffin, pale as the colour of life has long abandoned her. She was already skin and bones far long before that. She thought it was the definition of beautiful. She never got to realise the beauty within her. She never got to realise how her soft lilting voice that use to calm him down when he was nervous, her high-pitched laugh that kind of reminded everyone of a squealing baby and her friendly smiles to strangers on the streets was beautiful. The only beauty known to her was the ones on the front cover of Vogue, the girl that won Prom Queen every year, the woman in the movies that the main lead would love. She was wrong and she knew. But just a little too late. By then eight months worth of meals have went down the drain, and her only comfort at night are the pills that she'd take. His eyes watered, his fingers trembled. The magazine slipped out of his hands and dropped on to the floor. A little note peeked out of the bottom of the pages. He picked up and read the scribbled note. (c) by poemsfeeling

He shuffled to stand in front of the mirror that hung above the sink he once shared with his sister. He gulped when he saw what it reflected. A ridiculously large amount of freckles. Messy ginger hair. Flabby arms. Huge belly. Wimpy glasses. That's all he sees, and that is what he is defined as. The cackling of kids from school started to echo at the back of his mind. "You're so big." "Man, you should be joining the belly-dancing team." Jokes or not, it hurt. Flipping through his sister's old Vogue magazines, all he thought about was the possibility of looking like any one of the models. Looking closely at some of the dog-eared pages, he saw scribbled notes, highlights on texts and circles on details on "How to Look Good", "11 Tips To Get Your Dream Body!" and "So Do You Want To Be A Model?" "Was it all worth it?" he muttered. He thought of his sister lying in her coffin, pale as the colour of life has long abandoned her. She was already skin and bones far long before that. She thought it was the definition of beautiful. She never got to realise the beauty within her. She never got to realise how her soft lilting voice that use to calm him down when he was nervous, her high-pitched laugh that kind of reminded everyone of a squealing baby and her friendly smiles to strangers on the streets was beautiful. The only beauty known to her was the ones on the front cover of Vogue, the girl that won Prom Queen every year, the woman in the movies that the main lead would love. She was wrong and she knew. But just a little too late. By then eight months worth of meals have went down the drain, and her only comfort at night are the pills that she'd take. His eyes watered, his fingers trembled. The magazine slipped out of his hands and dropped on to the floor. A little note peeked out of the bottom of the pages. He picked up and read the scribbled note. (c) by poemsfeeling via Instagram http://ift.tt/1NSGyyZ at September 22, 2015 at 07:17PM • Details about Mehedi Menafa http://ift.tt/1G78OqZ • Trend News Online : http://ift.tt/1HXcMbL September 22, 2015 at 07:17PM