mirrors are windows to the soul
or
just windows for all to see.

it’s for the man with the binoculars
to see a peek of my pink fleshy skin
that never sees the light.

women to see
the face behind the paint,
laughing at the rare glimpse.

everyone to tell me what to wear,
they see a **** to have their way
or a ***** to shame into femininity.

mirrors are windows to the soul.

to all the dimples on my body
with the urge to remove it myself
the need for it to be free.

curly, frizzy hair
burned to a crisp with an iron
creating a new identity.

perfectly shaven legs
to invite the touch and sight
of everyone near me.

plastered face of makeup
caked with it to cover
all the imperfections.

mirror, mirror shows
the part of me
I don’t want to see.

a troll curled up in a corner
under the dark rainy cloud
as the woman with the painted face
goes out to see the light of day.

Hear us out, we are the losers.
We didn't want it all but just
a little more,  
from the mirrors without wrinkles,
from the afternoon 'till death,
from the doors without locks,
from the catdog people in the street,
and from ourselves, at least

from these shadows without bodies,
from these houses without ghosts,
from these minds without forgetfulness,
from these mountains without a fall,
from this silence without voices,
and from you who told us that we were wrong.

And that people is still out there,
and that people is distracted,
and that people is also living,
and that people is melting like snow,
and that people is building promises,
and that people is burning in the sun,
and that people...

Hear us out. We are those who got
the short end of the stick but still
go through the motions of living,
dancing away the life to death.

What's the matter, are you afraid?
Help yourself from my words,
take a deep breath and
deduce from the above
if you are one of us.

I'm uncomfortable in my own skin
I seek definitions that do not apply
I search for answers lost in echos
My eyes reflect a being I do not know
The mold does not fit the structure
I just hope my foundation last
Every question seems to lessen my worth
Love the differences embrace the battle
This becomes a disheartening journey
Chasing myself in my room
Up the walls thru my window
I look up arms pleading that I find IT
The one answer to it all
That one that sows the different pieces
Making me whole and bearable
I hope to look at myself without disgust
Without fear without caution
I hope to touch my face and love it's meaning

Hear us out, we are the losers.
We didn't want it all but just
a little more,  
from the mirrors without wrinkles,
from the afternoon 'till death,
from the doors without locks,
from the catdog people in the street,
and from ourselves, at least

from these shadows without bodies,
from these houses without ghosts,
from these minds without forgetfulness,
from these mountains without a fall,
from this silence without voices,
and from you who told us that we were wrong.

And that people is still out there,
and that people is distracted,
and that people is also living,
and that people is melting like snow,
and that people is building promises,
and that people is burning in the sun,
and that people...

Hear us out. We are those who got
the short end of the stick but still
go through the motions of living,
dancing away the life to death.

What's the matter, are you afraid?
Help yourself from my words,
take a deep breath and
deduce from the above
if you are one of us.

I think it takes a special kind of broken to look in the mirror and stare into your reflection.

And when you look into your own eyes...

You know you're not there.