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Roland Jun 5
The reflection in the mirror returns me a sad and forced smile, the dried-up hair barely catching the light, and those brown eyes sinking like holes in the ground.

Who could love that face? With its rough features. Its coarse skin and bent nose. A pyrrhic beard and that weak chin.

And what about those arms huh? Long and thin like church candles, but with no flare.

Not much of a chest either, there are gravestones with more bulk, and people are far happier to see them too.

But it’s the barrenness that scares me, the sinkholes run deep and the candles cold, and the gravestones go down to the foundations of the world.

The reflection in the mirror returns me. Nothing.
Lemon Apr 1
When I have no mirror
And my thoughts run free
I am suddenly a monster
and no longer me

When I'm surrounded by a crowd
My bones splinter out
My elbows bend backwards
And my voice is a shout

Though I know it's not true
I know I'm no beast
Voices race through my head
And greedily they feast

I'll bend over forwards
To cave into my chest
To make myself smaller
So maybe they'll rest

And when I'm finally home
No that cant be
In the mirror I look
Unable to see

Who is that kid
Whose eyes I see
How pretty he is
But that's not me
Basically my body dysmorphia is really bad and even though I know realistically what I look like, my brain still tells me that my elbows are too knobby and my arms are too skinny. When I sit at my desk I feel like my knees stick out funny and my back arches too much. Funnily enough, because I always think I'm slouching even when I'm not, I subconsciously always straighten my back so my posture is really good
Eve K Mar 6
It's a tale as old as time,
Like a fine wine that's aged.
Getting more bitter, rather than sweeter.

I look in the mirror. My reflections stares back at me.
The edges blur and fizzle, waiting to reveal, to see.
The face in the mirror resembles my face, only less clear.
Instead she looks at me, eyes wide with fear.
She snarls her nose, growls and hisses.
I look back, in time, she reminisces.
About the days we would share the same face.
About a time, we lived in the same place.

Now she shouts, WHAT DO YOU WANT?
I scream, she continues to haunt.
Why don't you like me? What's so wrong?

I look away, count to three.
Ground my feet, think of me.
I am not weak.
I look at her again. I am NOT weak,
I say with a look so bleak.
YOU ARE she judges,
JUST LOOK AT YOU, she begrudges.

I bite my nail, look away again.
I try to hide the pain.
The girl in the reflection laughs and chortles
YOOU ARE FEEBLE, just like all mortals.

But look at you, getting defensive against your own reflection
You could say it's merely a deflection,
Of your self worth
You might as well be a still birth.
You bring no value to this world.
She spits the words, lips curled.

I collapse on the floor,
I can't take much more.
What will the next face bring?
I rise from the abyss,
I can barely withstand this.

The next face is kinder.
Another meek body behind her.
Who are you?
I ask askew.
I am you, and you are me.
Let me show you what I can see.
I see a person whose been through a lot.
Every-time they get back up, down they are shot.

I nod cautiously, is this a trick?
Quickly she'll be coming back, I'll be quick.
There's many faces that you can see,
Be it you, us or me.
I understand the torture you hold inside,
Let it go, be free, we want to take your side.
But how? I cry, tears falling of my cheek.
Keep going slowly, week, by week.
I nod slowly, I cry a lot more.
My arms are shaking my throat is sore.
I can't keep fighting, the monster in my mirror.
Every day she keeps coming nearer.

That's okay, you will see.
One of these days you will be me.
And the little girl hiding behind you?
It's another face of you know who.
I shakily nod, and enquire,
Why she's hiding, as if about to transpire.
She's hiding from the face in the mirror.
Just like you, it's becoming clearer.
We don't like what we can see.
I don't like it anymore please believe me.
I know, I know, my reflection says.
But please let it be just a haze.
The girl in the mirror stood before you.
You can choose what she does do.
It's a hard rope to walk, and I walk it well.
I know it's hard, for you to tell,
But you have a choice, a voice, a speech and sound.
It's hard when she's screaming, I feel drowned.
Shush now, it will be alright.
I can't keep fighting this ****** fight.
I feel so tired, exhausted and spent.
I know, I'm sorry but it's time we both went.

I stare at my reflection. She stares back at me.
Eyes brown, hair soft, no expression to see.
She doesn't blink. I don't too.
We are now the only two.
Blankly looking out at me.
Wishing that we both were free.
Who are you? I mouth at her,
She copies me with silence despair.
I don't know and **** my head.
She does too, heavy as lead.
I'm so drained, she echoes my words.
Is she mocking me, like mocking birds.
She scrunches her nose, as do I.
We nod to each other and say good bye.

I avoid the mirror the next day or two.
Hiding from the reflection, keeping out of view.
Liliana C Dec 2021
This useless meat sack. I am the thing watching behind the eyes of this empty meat sack. I am the one piloting this sausage of a body, directing it to walk, talk, smile.
Sometimes I wish that I could reach into my chest and tear it open. I want to rip and tear and slice past the epidermis, watch the white fatty cells and veins and arteries moving. I want to see white, bone-white, a cage for my useless heart. Watch my heart pump like those sheep hearts we used to dissect in science. I remember how they looked, white fat clinging like ivy, and greying in the cool room of the labs. Nothing but a cold, clammy lump of flesh. Maybe death smells like the butchers. Like bleach that can’t cover the festering smell of rot and ammonia.
I’m heavy on my ankles. I remember the last time I fasted, and I felt as if I could fly, balanced on my tip-toes, poised to fall. And maybe falling felt just as good.
It’s so unbearably soft. My chest, my arms. I can feel my cheek meat. Fat on bones. Scrape it out with a spoon like pork cheeks, soft, tender, delicious.
A chrysalis. A cut-out, a hollow man wearing hollow shoes doing hollow things. How did that pupa feel, I wonder, trapped in darkness? No way out but forward. The growing pains, tendons and bones and muscles warping. Twisting and crawling but transforming, little by little. Into what, you can’t possibly imagine. The uncertainty, it’s almost as bad as the darkness. No change even when you open your eyes, like colours have frozen into little dizzying pixels. You can’t stop, but do you want to? On the precipice between weakness and a terrifying something else, what can you be but monstrous? Not one or the other but neither.
What are you turning into? A butterfly? A monster? Neither?
You can’t stop.
just something ive been feeling like lately
coqueta May 2021
So little, so fragile
Sweet pretty girl
Slender thighs
Big doe eyes
and long silky curls
that fall to an itty bitty waist
I wish to be that small and cute
and hardly take up space

Yes, I wish my body were so small
that I’d collapse into myself
and disappear
I’d fit into your world, I’d fit into your pocket
So tiny you could set me in a locket and carry
me close to your breast
Perhaps, if I look like a girl
You’d finally see me as woman
Then I could see myself as one too
and the world would think I’m lovely

Delicate princess, angelita
Say I’m your little ******
I’m sensitive you know
So love me gently (you never do)
i wish my appearance didn’t prevent me from being seen as delicate or fragile or small
mark soltero Aug 2021
there's no kindness in my eyes
fleeting emotions of grandeur leave
my body always feels broken after i feel alive
who's that stranger looking back at me
the reflection in the mirror lies
Malina May 2020
it's so tiring,
this back and forth in my brain.

i want to be better.
i want to be content
just as i am.
i want to be able to exhale,
and shut out the voices that tell me otherwise.
but they overpower me.

"my stomach looks good today",
"my legs aren't huge",
"i'm not ugly",
i try to say as my hands tell a different story.
grabbing at fat and skin,
trying to find any imperfection to prove me wrong.
and this is where the confusion starts:
looking in the mirror.

what do i look like?
how should i feel?
am i actually fat?
am i deluded to think i might not be?
i have no idea the answer to any of those questions
and millions just like them scream at me.
every minute.
every day.

if i am fat,
should i be trying to lose weight?
or should i try to accept how i look?

i try to be better,
to cope,
but i don't know which voice is right.
i don't know who to listen to.
and i'm trapped in this in between.

it's ******* exhausting so someone just tell me what to do
I needed to get these thoughts out of my head and onto a page
Empty bags and candy wrappers
Left strewn about
From my last attempt
To fill this feeling
To suppress this anxiety
Only for it to fail
And give birth to a different sickness

The rage I feel when I look in the mirror
The body I was given
And all that I have done to it
I want it to be beautiful
But just can’t keep up with the work
So the burning grows inside
I’ve gotta let it out
And I want it to hurt

There’s no one else to blame
No other half
I’ve just one brain
There is no wicked tempter
Only chemically driven impulse
I only lose my temper on myself
I want to squeeze til there’s no pulse
I want to shatter my mirror
And use the broken pieces
To carve the body I wished to see
When the mirror was whole
28 lines, 240 days left.
Quill Apr 2021
I sit inside a body in blood that isnt my own. There are voices calling out a name, a name attached to this vessel. It's not mine.
I am conscious of my state, this sentience pains me.
I know what's out there. I know my potential, what I could be. This barrier of skin and blood prevents me. It hurts.
I'll sit in this shell of a body to be perceived by those who happen to pass by. Wading in blood that isnt my own, with skin like marble begging to be carved into, and I won't mind.
This body isnt my body, my body is inside.
I wrote this inspired by a nightmare I had once, where I was trapped in the shell of a plastic gargoyle, sitting in blood that I knew wasn't mine. Looking back on it, my brain was probably trying to make sense of my feelings, but the nightmare has stuck with me.
Elizabeth Zenk Mar 2021
This body is so cumbersome and empty
full of bones I dream of breaking

so ****** the idea has become that
I ****** to the thought

of how great the spoils are of wasting
this perfect body away

I am growing tired of this skin
how it hold me captive

gripping tightly to the ivory prison
I gush, the thought of carving in

A primitive temptress, a ghost of the past
a shadow on white fair skin

How I wish to paint it red, to rekindle my flame again

How cumbersome this body can be

It’s been ******, and hit, and starved, and stuffed
What more could I wish to be done?

It craves the oil in a pain of rage
It loves how my skin must boil

Oh god may I ask
Was this what you intended
When you created man in your image
Do you hate yourself just as so
So am I just another flawed creature born from a perfect god.
Destined to stray from his lies.
My god this self loathing is tiring
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