I don't recognize the man in the mirror
because he is not the man I see
he is the perception of me
not my reality

When I look in the mirror
all that I see is that unfamiliar stranger
with his crooked smile and fixated eyes
looking back at me

He follows my movements,
my quirks and the works,
yet, all I see is a depiction
of a man destined for work.

The bags under his eyes
carry the weight of the world
His brow is stained with sweat,
his lip is curled

This man in the mirror,
he is not me.
He was, and always will be
a depiction
of what the world expects from me.