i asked her, does it look the same?
she gave me that funny look she gets
whenever i say or do something a little dim
it's a mirror image for a reason she said

in the mirror i see muscles, and strength
hips a little too wide and fleshy
but still muscular,
strength all the way down

but when i reflect on myself,
no mirror necessary
it is never the same

i don't feel as strong as i could
don't look as sharp and sturdy as i could
those fleshy sides, too soft
for a battle-hardened brain
and turbulent thoughts

i need angles, i need straight lines
but there's nothing straight about me
and that's half the problem

and the other half
is that i hate the softness that lingers
but everybody else loves it
and i don't want to be warm and
able to be cuddled

i want hard edges
and nimble, spindly fingers;
when i play my chords
i want my bones to tap the strings

and when sadness sheathes itself within me
i want eyes as dry
as my eczema-bitten hands

“You’re eating, again?”
The question stings like a honeybee’s kiss
I smile dryly as I nibble at my plate
You have moved on now
But I don't hear you
“You’re eating, again?”
These words intricately constructs heavy vines
encircling the delicate hand that once held my fork
I smile harder as three words prickles my body
Fabricating a paralyzing smog in my skull
The food becomes unpalatable and my mouth parches
“You’re eating, again?”
I rise and then I watch
"You’re eating, again?”
get flushed in a porcelain bowl
And I feel the familiar swell behind my eyes
And I weep
I weep because I ate again

What do I do?!?!?
Answer me!!!!
Don't leave me alone.
A nod of the head will suffice.
Should I smash the mirror?
The face that stares back in dissatisfaction?!
Do I blind the eyes,
So they can't look into my own?!
Do I take the lit candle,
place it beneath my face?
Burn my skin, shave my face,
Change my look entirely?
Hello?!

Why can't you answer...
You don't have the time, or is the answer too painful?
It doesn't matter.
I have braved many storms.
Faced the sea in defiance,
Bound my wounds in gauze,
and counted the time it takes the sun to set.
I can handle you.
You who ridicules, charms, then throws my smile away.

You can never run!
I know your secrets!
I know your name!
And someday, your taunts,
Will fall on deaf ears.
I'll look into the mirror,
And stare back,
At my own lustrous eyes!

I look in the water,
An image staring back at me.
It seems the image knows me better than
I know myself.
I don't know identity,
Just hide it.
No one knows I can't know myself,
They see who I let them see.
"Trust me," the mirror says,
"You'll be… more real."
But I know the mirror
Is just me, but a reflection.
Except
A clean reflection.
Me as I was born, as I will die,
An exact me.
Except
I wish this water would
Show me solutions and not the problem.
But
No one needs to know I looked in the water,
They'll never see what I saw.
The mirror,
It's just for me, it's all my choice.
But
I can't forget I am not who I think.
I can hardly know my deepest self.
The mirror knows:
I am not myself. I am the reflection.

In this dungeon I have built,
I question all my thoughts.
As my body comes to wilt,
my mind has yet to rot.
Which is why that I contrive to sell the world my soul,
I know that they don't need it,
but still I play the role.
So long have I looked out these bars which tether me,
with guilt I never had,
by thoughts I never see.
But I will serve my penance
Justice must be served.
Just leave me with the remnants,
life that I reserved.
I can't decipher what I mean,
I try to raise my tone.
At first, I thought, I am unseen,
Instead, I am alone.
But darkness is not unusual,
in the dungeon I am held.
The silence is rather usable,
and through it I am compelled.

I like being liked.
We do.
It matters who likes us too.
Do your parents like you?
They have that option,
It's obvious in adoption.

My friends like and are liked by me,
Or they aren't friends.

Teachers liked me.
Some students are hard to like,
But succeed.

Co-workers liked me.
Had their ups and downs with me.
Some didn't like me, but once did.
My status changed. Their's didn't.
I moved from their likeness image
When the bosses liked me so much,
They made me one.
Bosses have fun, but with more cash,
And less time to enjoy it.
But when the time arrived,
I liked the bosses too.

My spouse liked me.
Denise likes me.

Most importantly, my kids.
They like me,
So much so,
They gave me a sign:

          If Dad Can't Fix It,
          We're all *******.

Do I want to be liked?
Don't you?

Like I said,
I like being liked.

An angel sits above my head
and spreads her gentle wings over
my tormented and tireless dreams. 
The battleground that is my bed
she calmly silences, her
kisses cooling stifled screams.

My angel knows my dark inside,
for she was with me from the start.
How fitting is the irony;
She was the me I tried to hide.
But something changed within my heart,
and now my demon saves me.

maybe her reflection isn’t the one
wherein she sees herself;
maybe her reflection is just a
collage of her experiences
and not who she really is
or what capability she possesses

or maybe her reflection is all just words
of those who has naught a belief to her;
they penetrate to her overthinking mind
adding to her doubtful existence
and fueling her unworthiness further

and maybe her self-worth needn’t to be improved
because all she ever sees within her eyes
is darkness.

Please have no expectations of me
I will not meet them
I am infinite
I am boundless in
Energy
Grace
Color
Imagination
Nothing can hold me down
Not you
Not anything
But myself.