The mirror that I look
at myself in is
old
dark
fractured
wavy
distorted
It is as if these glass fragments
have writing scrawled upon them
in crimson lipstick
Words like:
Damaged
Unclean
Fat
Old
Ugly
Bitch
Unworthy
Invisible
Unlovable
Objects in this mirror
may be closer than they appear
sometimes they hurt
sometimes they bleed
People have been handing me new words
that they say they see when they look at me
This language is not congruent
with what my looking glass
likes to venomously spew at me
These are different kinds of words entirely
Strong
Kind
Honest
Brave
Badass
Radiant
Beautiful
Authentic
Powerful
Impactful
Wise
Intelligent
I am not sure what to do
with these foreign objects
I put them in a heart shaped box
for safe keeping
I like to take them out and wonder at them
tracing their curves with my finger
I am thinking about buying
new, clear mirrors
that surround me 360 degrees
and inscribing the glass
with these gifts of words
I have been given
that tell a different narrative of me
Or perhaps I will
carve them onto flat disks
of gold, silver and bronze
and string them into a necklace
that I wear close to my heart
It will have weight, heft
be an ever present reminder
that mirrors are not always
the holders of my truths
© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved