Originally written July 2010.
Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, I don't recognize who I see at all.
I press my nose against the reflection, maintaining contact with the eyes--usually green, sometimes blue. Today, watery, red rimmed, black shadows, waterproof lashes running down my cheeks. My breath fogs up my image. I back away and draw a heart, breathe on it again to make it disappear.
I stare again at my eyes, the windows to the soul. I see nothing, am I soul-less? I glance at each feature intently, individually, can't connect the dots. I see my eyes as others see them: dark, reflective. Reflecting what? They seem empty today, all me-ness flushed out with tears. I look at my nose. I've never liked it much; too short, squatty, too big for my face really. But the scents it picks up make my heart race again. The familiar scent of regret and pheromones. My mouth is next. Small, delicate. You have an abnormally small mouth I still laugh when I remember my dentist telling me that. Could you put that in writing, no one would ever believe such a thing. But yes, my mouth. My allure, my destruction. Sweet words, witty comebacks, sharpness delivered right on point if you cross me. Nope, never have to use my hands in a fight with a mouth like this. A sailor and Einstein, confined in one space
Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, I don't recognize who I see at all.
I press my nose against the reflection, maintaining contact with the eyes--usually green, sometimes blue. Today, watery, red rimmed, black shadows, waterproof lashes running down my cheeks. My breath fogs up my image. I back away and draw a heart, breathe on it again to make it disappear.
I stare again at my eyes, the windows to the soul. I see nothing, am I soul-less? I glance at each feature intently, individually, can't connect the dots. I see my eyes as others see them: dark, reflective. Reflecting what? They seem empty today, all me-ness flushed out with tears. I look at my nose. I've never liked it much; too short, squatty, too big for my face really. But the scents it picks up make my heart race again. The familiar scent of regret and pheromones. My mouth is next. Small, delicate. You have an abnormally small mouth I still laugh when I remember my dentist telling me that. Could you put that in writing, no one would ever believe such a thing. But yes, my mouth. My allure, my destruction. Sweet words, witty comebacks, sharpness delivered right on point if you cross me. Nope, never have to use my hands in a fight with a mouth like this. A sailor and Einstein, confined in one space
Today, I have no words to say.
I press my forehead against the glass again . . . . breathe in, breathe out. Reach around to the small space left between my face and the glass and draw a heart. This makes me laugh. The sharpness of it causes me to stop. Is this who I've become? I sometimes wonder if I truly find anything funny anymore or if that's all make-believe as well.
I stare at my reflection and wonder without a thought in my head. Just staring to see if anything comes to me, comes together. It's that damn wall again, pressing in. I've become a seek and find game. Only a little revealed at a time, can you guess who it is before all the pieces are revealed? Sometimes I almost question my sanity, but a therapist already did that for me. Clean bill of mental health, with the exception of some hyperactivity. But really? Do other people do this? Gaze into mirrors, confused by the idea of staring at the stranger you are certain you know but can't quite put your finger on how?
My hair is a mess. I decide I like it this way and pin a flower behind my ear before spraying it to hold the disarray. I wipe the mascara streaks off my cheeks but leave the shadows under my eyes. This seems like a red lipstick day to me. Probably stilettos as well. .
One last touch with my red lipstick and a heart on the mirror, one that won't evaporate. I turn off the light and stop thinking.
Oh, mirror, mirror on the wall, you have no clue either, really, none at all
I press my forehead against the glass again . . . . breathe in, breathe out. Reach around to the small space left between my face and the glass and draw a heart. This makes me laugh. The sharpness of it causes me to stop. Is this who I've become? I sometimes wonder if I truly find anything funny anymore or if that's all make-believe as well.
I stare at my reflection and wonder without a thought in my head. Just staring to see if anything comes to me, comes together. It's that damn wall again, pressing in. I've become a seek and find game. Only a little revealed at a time, can you guess who it is before all the pieces are revealed? Sometimes I almost question my sanity, but a therapist already did that for me. Clean bill of mental health, with the exception of some hyperactivity. But really? Do other people do this? Gaze into mirrors, confused by the idea of staring at the stranger you are certain you know but can't quite put your finger on how?
My hair is a mess. I decide I like it this way and pin a flower behind my ear before spraying it to hold the disarray. I wipe the mascara streaks off my cheeks but leave the shadows under my eyes. This seems like a red lipstick day to me. Probably stilettos as well. .
One last touch with my red lipstick and a heart on the mirror, one that won't evaporate. I turn off the light and stop thinking.
Oh, mirror, mirror on the wall, you have no clue either, really, none at all
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