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Sorin L Javerin Apr 2018
To those who look in the mirror
And see a beautiful person
And those that look in the mirror
But see nothing.

It matters not what cold gray world
We all may live on
Or a world of vibrant green and gold
It is our world.

Soak what gray you most in blood.
Whether it be black blood of hate
                       Blue blood of envy
             Green blood of greed
         Purple blood of lust
Or the crimson of life.

Take this world in your hands
And cradle whats here.
There is someone who understands.
Someone with your taste.

Take the leg broken amd trode upon
And pick yourself up.
Prove that the strongest people
See nothing in the mirror.

Show that the empty mirror
Only shows whats important to you.
Those that see a beautiful person...
Show them that hate
                        Hate is the best motivator

The best for success.

The best for a great life.

For hate is a driving force
Behind the bullet that is you.
Fired feom the mouth of that
Beauty seeking mirror looker.

Take beauty from your surroundings
As well as within yourself.
Only then will you finally see
Something in your mirror.

And what you'll see wont be beauty
But success.

Seen or unseen,
It matters not to the strong.
Because the mirror isn't real.
You made it because they did.

Destroy ot like you did their words.
Use that broken leg to stand tall.
Taller than anyone.

But always remember where you come from.
Stay humble no matter where life leads.

For if you don't
Your reflection will change.
And so will your leg.
Joesato132 Apr 2018
There he was with the blade in his hand
Scars on his skin replace pain in his head
Worthless and pain is all that he knows
Desperately fiending for a lovely soul
She abandoned him so his death must be quick
Every lie feeling like a crack of a whip
Revenge consumes his mind
Making him wonder possibly why?
She made him believe she was everything
Only to leave him for a step up the ladder
She told him she would save him yet she only made him sadder
Claiming her life now as perfection
All she had to do was desert his affection
So he raised the knife slitting his throat on that cold night
He died believing his revenge would be on sight
Maybe she would finally feel what it's like when you take away a light
But she only shed crocodile tears
Knowing she had escaped her worst fears
No longer can he be the thorn in her side
He was as worthless and disposable as she claimed him to be
And now she had just been released from his prison of mirrors
She is finally free.
Opening lines inspired by Jahseh Onfroy
Anisah Apr 2018
When I was one I looked into the mirror,
I saw a blank canvas,
Begging for paint to ink the surface
And etch deep into itself.
I remember the hope of opportunities
When I realized what I’ll be.
I’ll be whatever I want to be,
And maybe more.

When i was three I looked into the mirror,
All I saw was a wide smile,
It was warm and comforting.
Maybe I miss that smile a bit.
I contemplate the joy,
Joy that steamed from fear
Of hate that I overcame.
It has always been my proudest moment.

When I was five I looked into the mirror.
I saw the excitement in my eyes,
Anticipating the first day of school,
With a curiosity not seen.
It was almost as obvious
As when I first told a story.
Nothing was able to beat the jubilation
Of my very own world.

When I was thirteen I looked into the mirror,
the picture was too distorted to see.
Sometimes I thought I could sense
a hint of that smile I used to have
Other times, the mirror waterfalled,
Reflecting all the self worth I felt.
My heart dropped to my stomach,
The waterfall was bare.

Now I am seventeen I look into the mirror
I see a crossroads with two paths,
one lit up with starlight,
tempting me with the universe ahead.
I can hear the thud of my excitement,
- it beats ferociously.
I can feel a tingling sensation
- the regret of the other road.

When I am twenty five, I’ll look into the mirror.
I want to see the independence,
Of a young woman,
Learning what I passion for.
I want to see a beauty,
In the thirst for knowledge,
And the drive for time
Pushed along in every country that I visit.

When I am fourty-two I’ll look  into the mirror.
I want to see a family,
So light-hearted, cosy and fun.
A house unlike the one I grew up in.
I want to bathe in the warmth of the sun,
As laughter echoes in the air
Coaxed from my heart
From the melodies that make cities grow.

But I wait for the day when I’ll look into the mirror,
And barley give it a second glance.
Because I’ll know how fruitless it is.
There is nothing that a mirror can tell me that I don’t already know.
Even if I look and the image is distorted,
Or faded from the withering of the seams,
I wait for when I’ll know it’s okay.
Because an image is the only thing I see.
-Anisah Mariah
The stages of life, how I feel each time I look into a mirror.
Brianna Duffin Mar 2018
Where there is hope
There is some faith
And with just a little faith
There lies possibility-
For huge miracles,
For great achievements
For a brand new sense of home.
At least that’s what Mom told me.
She said, look in the mirror
And if you see something,
You’ve got hope.
Only problem is I hate mirrors
They always seem to show me scars,
Even the ones below my skin.
I’ve never felt faith, never seen hope
It just doesn’t work like that, I think.
Mom always said all we need is love
And I’ve got love in my heart,
But not the beauty she promised it brings
I can’t stand mirrors- so full of scars
The one thing I can’t hide my scars from-
Mirrors.
They glitter in sunlight,
But then they go face to face, toe to toe
With a real person.
No, no, no.
It’s so different,
They’re cold and mean, always hurting
And watering. Always somehow ugly.
Mom said if you look in the mirror
And see something you’ve got hope.
Maybe she meant if you have hope
Despite what you see in the mirror,
You know you’re really strong.
Mirrors. I hate them and all their scars.
Full poem can be read here:
https://medium.com/@briannarduffin/mirror-me-7f2397234d4
Renea Mar 2018
I'm Afraid of mirrors
Not because of the creepiness of them
Not because it shows my reflection

I'm Scared of mirrors because I see the scars
They are not visible to the eye
They are mental scares

I'm afraid of mirrors
They are scars only I can see
When I look in the mirror
I see the time I almost ended it
I see the black eye my abusive brother had gave me
I see the thousands of times I've cried
wanting the end the pain

I'm afraid of mirrors
Jaden Mar 2018
I know a girl
Maybe more
than she knows
herself.
You see,
She looks
In the mirror
And believes that
She's plain.
But when I look
At her
I see
so much
More.
I look and see
Sparkling eyes
As deep
As the universe
Itself.
I see her hair
Shining with
Layers
of soft, secret
Beauty.
I see her
I know
Her joy
Her sorrow
Her.
For all the girls out there who look into mirrors
© KMH 2018
Jack Bennett Feb 2018
I'm in a room of mirrors

They're each telling me something different

About myself

The mirror I should listen to

Is the one that reflects my heart
A written account (that incorporates some
self directed hyperbole) of this veritable stranger
now appears before your screen. Soon
after reading this message, the neighbors

might discern a blood curdling series
of (hyena-like) shrieking screams.
No worry. That would be the mating call
of the hairy Harris mama bear.

Ready! Set! Click!

A scary reflection greets me whenever
I summon up enough steely courage to take
a sneak peek into the mirror. Before
spider lines start to appear across the
shiny surface and subsequent cracks

and fissures dissolve the glassy surface
these deux hazel colored, myopic be
spectacled eyes quickly absorb a most
frightful countenance and visage.

That near legendary and trademark feature
of longish, wavy and brown straggly hair
seems to fill the entire view. Hidden among
avant garde rhapsodic bohemian, Cro-Magnon,
Neolithic, non-every-man style of un-styled
non dread full locks (interspersed with silver follicles

indicative of acquired worry fighting off
garden variety prehistoric creature) can be discerned
a brutish, nasty and short proto-human with
high forehead, which allows, enables and provides
more skin surface to bang against wall when frustrated.

My somewhat outsize ears and longish neck
(I swear exist, which contrary to popular myth
never seen by living persons) support this egg shaped
(fried or scrambled some might argue) head.

A mostly flat and hairless chest attests to a regular
regimen of light (self-concocted) chest-pounding routine.
Exercise (as well as meditation) a vital part of my
daily program to deal with the ordinary stresses
of primitive existence. Coffee happens to be the

sotto voce sole vice, which exotic brews provide
helpful jump-start. I sometimes even chump on cup
kept teeth sharp. That unproductive habit came
to a screeching halt after breaking every pearly white.

Now to that locale known as the trumpeting ****
pull stilts skin. Although the unseen forces of biology
and genetics dealt me an itsy bitsy, tiny *****
(which serves as the but for fellow Apes to taunt

and tease) such anatomical feature offers little
value as the worthiness of ****** prowess.
This palm pilot sized gluteus Maximus offers one benefit.

Ease to squeeze into tight spaces without getting stuck.
This tiny ***** accompanied by a vestigial and
teeny-weensy ****** schnitzel of a phallus, which
undersized **** a doodle do doth bulge into

an erectile state within shooting distance of
coveted warm, wet and wooly private world
property of each and every woman.
A pair of skinny (flamingo like) legs (covered in
adequate hair) now completes this general character sketch.
Autumn Jan 2018
My body is a mirror.
And you.
      You're distracted.
Too distracted.
    By your own reflection.
        To look deeper.
To realize.
              This mirror is broken.
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