He was telling her how good her glasses looked,

And insisting that she go to class.

He even had a mirror out

And forced her face

With his hands

To make her look at herself

With tear-streaks down her cheeks

And tear drops fogging up the lenses

And dripping from the frames.

And I was so mad at him,

I wanted to slap him.

I only wished I were strong enough

To hit him hard enough 

And make him cry,

And put a mirror to his face

And tell him he had to go to class

Looking that way.

Because she was eleven,

And she didn't like

The way she looked in her new glasses,

And he wasn't helping.

-jenn