mirror, mirror

love letter #5

My dear reader, how long do you think it is we spend in front of a mirror over the course of our lifetime? I fear the answer, for me, is far too long. It saddens me to think about how much time we waste in front of a mirror. I wish it were irrational, but I believe it makes perfect sense. Appearances seem to dictate so much of our lived experience and can be so incredibly defining. Perhaps this is why changes to our appearance, whether intentional, like the application of makeup or the styling of one’s clothing, or unintentional, like the scarring of acne or the loss of one’s hair, can present moments of deep emotional upheaval. The following poems were inspired by my time spent before my bedroom and bathroom mirrors, and represent an attempt to grapple with some of my innermost struggles with body image.

mirror, mirror
on the wall
if not the fairest,
where do i fall?

before the tea goes cold

in the time that it took, for my tea to go cold
i saw my reflection grow tired, and old

as if youth had escaped me, just beyond the mirror glass
behind the man with no heart, where the light cannot pass

with eyes, so scrutinizing, and mind, so demanding,
pulling at skin, a dysmorphic mishandling 

in the time that it took, for my tea to go cold
i stood there, staring, at a story untold

---

dear God,

pull the skin 
a little tighter
there

---

in the makings of a monster

i am embroiled
          in the makings
                    of a monster

i tirelessly toil, i pick and i prod
with hammer and chisel, from marble i carve
unnatural features, unnatural grooves
in the makings of a monster
     there is a thing I must prove

i crave satisfaction, i trim and i trace
with will of Creator, i work with great haste
my figertips ragged, my eyes bloodshot
in the makings of a monster
     there is no second thought

i fear my own creature, his life his own
with grotesque attraction, my gaze still holds
with sore eyes i sought, with hunger i swallowed
in the makings of a monster
      was a heart that i hallowed

i detest this creature, this monster before me 
in the name of the Lord, he is no Son, no Glory 
deformable, as clay, malleable, as man
in the makings of a monster 
     before the mirror, I stand