This surface,
So cool and smooth,
as if such a portal could devour me.
I trace my hand across it's crystal edges,
And hers follows mine.
But can't she see,
I'm not her.
Maybe once upon a time,
but that land was years away.
When witches nibbled at her arms,
And the prince took one glance at her sleeping face,
Before running away with the dragon.
I'm not her!
I threw away that facade,
And like her prince,
I too ran,
far away from my femininity,
Far away from the tower society built me.
Now I stand,
staring into the surface of my past,
chanting to the mirror, mirror on my wall,
to remind myself of the flesh I never wish to inhabit.
The shadows creeping under her chin tell stories and dance across her ears,
They march under her chest and through her hair,
And I, an observer,
delighted to have left this scene.
My hand trails down her face,
not an ounce of longing nor care,
Wishing that one day she too could be on this side of the glass.
Because; She is not me.