mirrors are windows to the soul
or
just windows for all to see.

it’s for the man with the binoculars
to see a peek of my pink fleshy skin
that never sees the light.

women to see
the face behind the paint,
laughing at the rare glimpse.

everyone to tell me what to wear,
they see a **** to have their way
or a ***** to shame into femininity.

mirrors are windows to the soul.

to all the dimples on my body
with the urge to remove it myself
the need for it to be free.

curly, frizzy hair
burned to a crisp with an iron
creating a new identity.

perfectly shaven legs
to invite the touch and sight
of everyone near me.

plastered face of makeup
caked with it to cover
all the imperfections.

mirror, mirror shows
the part of me
I don’t want to see.

a troll curled up in a corner
under the dark rainy cloud
as the woman with the painted face
goes out to see the light of day.