Sometimes when I stare into mirrors,
I see an array of illusions.
I have a hard time knowing if they're truths,
Or if they are delusions.

For example, sometimes I look and see gross skin,
But then someone will tell me I'm glowing.
I'll look into the glass and see nothing worthwhile,
Because my fat neck is showing.

Other times I will feel attractive,
As I stare into my own brown eyes,
Which I convince myself smolder,
Mocha orbs that are wise.

But then someone will point out a pimple,
And tell me I don't look that great.
I am starting to think illusions
Are all that make up my face.