Mirror

Why can't glass show me more than
an image - a face?
Does my soul merely get mixed up
and lost somewhere in space?
I don't trust the reflection,
because it isn't real.
What's shown isn't me because it
doesn't show how I feel.
The tear you see slowly rolling
down my reddened cheek
Equals a thousand pains inside
that I dare not speak.
My mind is a mess that I
wish I could know
But my thoughts are figments
that the glass won't show;
It doesn't display the conflict
raging on the inside.
It's just a bunch of proportions and pictures
that are deceivingly applied.
The mirror doesn't help me to know
my inner being;
The person I really am is not the
person I am seeing.
Staring at the silver doesn't
help the pain to pass,
So the person dwelling in my head
shatters the looking glass.

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