(I don’t look in the mirror anymore)

what I feel

and

how I look

are

two different things.

In the mirror, I can't

escape reality

there is no flaw too small

to detect

Not enough makeup

to conceal

the unpleasant reflection

of myself.

But I always

go back to the mirror

thinking it'll be different

than before.

If I simply change clothes

find the right contour

go on a proper diet then

only then it'll change.

In reality the reflection

in the mirror

always stays the same

that knowing

illuminates the shadow

tied with pain

but maybe I set the bar over the moon.

So in fairness, what I see in the mirror isn't true.

big brown eyes

looking confused,

in front a mirror,

she sees a girl,

then,

she closes her eyes,

and sees a woman,

so done with the world,

that she is ready to fight.

When I speak my reflection recites sonnets from Shakespeare—Rubens immortalizes my apple cheeks and round figure in hues of rubies and milk—starry night paints my eyes in every shade of Van Gohgs blues—and oh Michelangelo envisioned David when he carved the dips and valleys between my thighs—if my body is a cathedral I am the roof of the Sistine chapel—my hands will never stop roaming the canvas that is my body because I am a work of art that deserves to be loved

As I raised my hand to my face

It followed my pace

When I combed my hair with grace

It watched boldfaced

As I touched my frown by hand

So, it noticed my white strands

I see you, I see you staring

It said, remember to start caring

My brown eyes tired and dim

It saw my pale olive skin

I asked who are you?

The silver watcher withdrew

#TheSilverWatcher

Is there truly any feeling worse than disappointment?

I would say there’s not.

A glimpse of the bright sunrise,

followed by shadows of rot.

Like many emotions

it exists in many forms.

Perhaps the worst of them

is the one the mirror scorns.

The one in yourself

and the failures you carry.

You try to balance it

With the self-hatred you bury.

You look at others

and their shining crowns.

You can’t quite help it

But to feel down.

These muddy feelings

Of distaste and inferiority

Make you timid and boring

Your soul lacking authority.

But it’s too late

These feelings have locked you away.

You won’t try and resolve them

That’s a job for another day.

I look into the mirror and see the reflection of a 42 year old woman staring back. I glance back but look deep beyond her complexion, studying the tiny creases and indentations around her welcoming eyes, inviting me in through a window of memories. Good and bad, but they all showed meaning and gave me lessons that I needed to learn.

Taking me back to a time and place - to a young girl with long dark hair flowing in the wind. Her brown eyes sparkled like stars in the night. Silver hoops earrings hung from her lobes. A 17 year old girl who liked to hang out with friends and wanted to be noticed by the boys. Then the blunders of a later time came to light - years of hard lessons - her failures and losses, the set backs, challenges and how it molded her life and changed it completely. She once dreaded of becoming older and despised mirrors. But today it’s her way to self-reflect and she no longer hates the person staring back at her.

#challanges #memoir #lifestyle

what is a name by any other than that that holds you hostage?

my bones split into fragments;

you name each one,

define each one.

limbs turn into words turn into chaos--

my skin is etched by scribbles,

did you place them there?

i don't remember who i was before you told me who to be.

there's too many lines;

i don't know where they end

and i begin.