She spends her days
In a house of mirrors.
Each image is real, yet
Each is false.
Each image is
Reflected into
Her frightened eyes
By a mirror, warped
And twisted, by
Past beliefs that are not,
And never were,
True.

She can't see her own
Wondrous Light
Beauty and,
Immeasurable
Worth,
Something we each possess
As human beings,
To shine on each other,
And light up our world.
These mirrors she constructed
Constantly and consistently
Lie to her, and she only sees a
Pathetic, worthless failure
In them.

Where might she find
A true reflection
Of herself in this
House of false reflections?
Perhaps in
The eyes of those who
Care about her, and
Love her?
There she might glimpse the truth
About her real, whole self.
A truth she
Dares not discover,
For fear that it will just be
A confirmation of
What she already knows:

That she is an unlovable monster
With nothing of any value
In herself
To offer anyone!

Why is it so much easier for many of us,
Like her,
To live with the certainty of painful lies,
And punish ourselves for what we are not,
Than risk the uncertainty of
Glimpsing the unknown truths
About our unknowable selves?