“I feel ugly,” she says.

I take a step back

and start convincing her.

“You’re not ugly.

You can light up a whole room if you want.

Your eyes are like color-changing leaves in autumn.

Your smile is like a star when you’re being sincere.

Your hair always falls perfectly,

even though you don’t think it does.

You look good,

even if you’re wearing something so oversized

that the figure of your body doesn’t show.

You look good,

even when you’re crying so loud.

You look good,

even when you’re mad.

You only think you don’t.

And you’ve got to accept

that people aren’t lying to you,

but you are.”

I finally find the courage

to look at her again

and step back forward

to the reflection in my mirror.

“I guess I do look good.”